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the-darklings · 2 years

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐈𝐗.]

summary: "I see him in everything."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 8.3k+

warnings: angsty (but we're getting there), Dream is still Dream (absent) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: prepare for immortal trouble and make it double heh.

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART NINE: YEAR 1021 I

“It would sure help if you stopped falling apart for a goddamn second. Dumb bricks.”

Merv sweeps the broom over the crushed stone, his effort all but wasted when seconds later, more dust rains from the crumbling ceiling.

You hear reprimand in Lucienne’s voice when she speaks from beside you, “Mervyn.”

A cavil sigh rumbles from the janitor’s chest. “Sorry, Loosh.”

The librarian sighs in defeated understanding, directing her attention back towards you. Seated on the damaged staircase leading to Dream’s throne, you flick another page absentmindedly. Lucienne stands before you, hands clasped behind her back while you converse. You’re the only three inhabitants remaining in the castle. Or what’s left of the once ornate marvel.

“London, then,” Lucienne voices pointedly.

You hum, flicking another page, sifting through the information printed. A new lead, but you’re keeping your expectations low. You’ve learned there are only so many disappointments and failures you can stomach. “Yup. It’s been twenty years. Should be interesting going back.”

Predictably, Lucienne’s concern rings loud and clear. “What if it’s no more than another false lead?”

Your mouth tightens.

“Then I find another.”

You hate giving them hope—hate it even more when you return each time, empty-handed and quelled.

Closing the manilla folder, you tuck it under your arm, standing to your feet. Dream’s coat drags across the stone until you hit bottom, straightening. The raised collar kisses over your cheek when Lucienne grasps your forearm, rooting you in place. Her hold is firm, but the gleam reflecting behind her circled glasses is concerned, probing.

“Wanderer. I worry for you.” Merv clears his throat loudly, steadfast in his sweeping, and Lucienne hastily adds, “We worry for you. You are not well. Whatever you are doing to contain the curse is…”

Necessary.

There is merit to their worry, you suppose. But have you ever truly been well? Has millennia done anything but prove how helpless your situation is? You’ve turned brittle inside. Neither whole nor shattered, but some perpetual dysfunction found in being both simultaneously. Millennia. It had crept up on you. Had it not been for humanity celebrating, had it not been for magick stifling the air, it might have slipped your notice altogether.

“I’m grateful for your concern,” you reply. Your hand ghosts over hers, calming, then you pull away. “But leave the semantics to me, Lucienne.”

“What happens if you succeed, kid?”

Both yours and Lucienne’s attention turns towards the janitor. Merv leans on his broom, frowning deeply. Despite having no discernible eyes for you to gaze into, only two carved cavities, you sense the weight behind his stare, the way his question cuts down to the bone.

“Your meaning?” Lucienne prompts.

Merv shoots her a knowing glance. “I mean, sure, this is all great. We’re looking for Boss and all, but…” He shrugs his shoulders awkwardly. “What happens when you find him? You’re still banished.”

The reminder scalds, slithering down your throat like liquid flame.

Lucienne laces her fingers in front of her. “You are assuming the worst about Lord Morpheus, Mervyn.”

As her words dash against the decaying stone, you all understand they’re futile and misplaced, given the context. You’ve seen Dream at his best and his worst. The latter too many times to hold any illusions about the notion of swift forgiveness.

“Eh, no offence, but for a good reason. Even if you have to agree.”

Merv’s purposeful words are met with telling silence from the librarian.

“I leave.”

Both their heads snap in your direction this time. Lucienne’s bewildered expression chips at your stony demeanour. It’s heartwarming to consider she finds the notion this inconceivable.

“You cannot.” Her shoes scuff on the throne room floor, kicking up dust. “After everything you've done for the Dreaming—”

“Merv is right,” you cut in calmly. There’s no vibrance in your voice anymore. You’re not sure when it faded, but it has, as have most things around you. “Morpheus is the King of Dreaming. While he lives, I’m trespassing. I always knew the dangers when I came back here, Lucienne. I don’t regret it.”

The grim air shrouding them makes you add a gentler, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. First, we need to find him.”

You place your palm briefly on Lucienne’s arm as you walk past her, nodding towards Merv.

Lucienne spins after you when you brush past. “You cannot do this forever, Wanderer. Eventually, something will give.”

Yes, that much is inevitable. But you don’t voice it. They’ve been through enough. Putting the weight of another looming loss on them is not something you wish to do.

“On the contrary, my friend.” As you head towards the exit, you shove your hand in your coat pocket, fingers seeking a pebble and a wooden figurine sleeping safely in the dark folds. “Forever is all I have left.”

The air crackles, and you’re gone.

Your coat weighs at least several pounds heavier from the rainwater saturating it. The dark material skims over the ground when you push into a busy pub, rowdy chatter and cheers filling the air. It’s humid tonight, and the air inside the bustling establishment is hot, with sour beer and stale sweat heavy in your nostrils.

Another dead end. There’s no point in denying a simple fact any more: the universe is conspiring against you. You've dug too deep, laid too much on the line for something not to work. No one has deigned to help you because it’s not meant to be.

Your brooding death glare makes a young man—likely barely above the legal drinking age—scramble from your path. Another joy of being you means you carry scarce few items on you. You're more likely to lose or misplace them, so what’s the point? But you’ve forgotten how arbitrary British weather can be. You’re soaked to the bone.

You wedge yourself in the seemingly sole unoccupied spot, miserable and aching with a familiar stinging failure. Just a moment. A second to warm up, to stave off returning to the Dreaming and seeing the subtle yet inescapable disappointment on Lucienne’s and Merv’s faces at the news.

Dropping your head backwards, you exhale a bone-deep sigh. It’s then you spot a man sitting on your left, a pen in hand, a scattering of papers littering his table as he stares at you. Hard. Squinting. Handsome, dark-haired, faint stubble littering his jaw and accenting his cleft chin.

Your nape tingles.

“Can I help you?” you ask bluntly.

Startled surprise alights the stranger’s dark eyes. “Sorry. God, that’s rude. I didn’t mean to stare.” He raises a hand in surrender, regret palpable as he drags stray strands of equally dark hair behind his ear. “Or make you uncomfortable. You just reminded me of someone I knew once. Sorry.”

Odd. Most have a hard time placing you. You either blend in until you’re wallpaper and the walls, trees and the ground or until they see nothing but you. Once upon a time, that used to be your cue to run.

“Must have been someone special,” you hedge casually, scrutinising the strange man just as closely.

The man ponders that for a moment. “He was a bit of an arsehole.”

Unfamiliar pressure pulls around your mouth, and you realise a small smile has formed a second later. Stranger still. You can't recall the last time you smiled. Or laughed. A faint snort leaves you. “Yeah, I had someone like that in my life once too. What happened to this arsehole?”

The stranger sits back, relaxing at your lack of ire to his prior ogling. He twists the pen between his fingers.

“Well, I don’t actually know. We have an agreement, you see. To meet up ever so often in the same place. Chat. Have a drink. We fought the last time we met. Then he stood me up. Guess I had it coming. I implied he was lonely, and he did not take well to it—”

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Hob Gadling.”

The man stills for a blink and you miss it second. But it’s enough. You’ve learned to read people like books after a thousand years, and even someone like him—someone like you, old and cunning in his own way—is not foolproof. “Uh, sorry, no. Who's that?”

His short laugh is charming and rich, a warm hand stroking down your chilled, wet skin. Intended to sway you away from your inquiry. But these tricks are only good for deterring ordinary, unassuming individuals.

You’re no such thing.

You lean closer, and Hob tenses subtly, a survivor's shrewdness burning in his previously open, friendly gaze.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “We have a friend in common.”

He hears you even over the cheering crowd after a football team scores, everyone clustering around the TVs dotted around the packed pub. Hob’s mouth parts, then compress into a bloodless line. He edges closer too.

“You… are you like him?” he mouths.

Breaking the eye contact, you consider how to answer him best. “No.” Another slight smile curls your mouth. “I’m actually more like you.”

Hob’s eyes widen. “Me? So you’re…” he trails off, and you nod slowly. A wide grin splits his cheeks, stretching from one ear to another. “Well, that’s just brilliant.”

The sheer delight oozing from him catches you entirely off guard. As if you’re a present, a joy, and have been gifted solely to him. The warm curiosity he regards you with crumples something delicate inside your chest.

“We should talk,” he adds hastily, hushed.

Nodding, you sweep your attention over the crowd. “Not here. Too many ears.”

Another grin edges Hob’s face, cheekier this time. “I own this place. I live upstairs. C’mon.”

He hurriedly swipes up the papers dotted on his table, his excitement palpable.

“Weren’t you working on something?” you question with a raised brow.

He falters, clearing his throat. “This, oh, yeah. Just stuff. Marking.”

“You’re a teacher,” you conclude, rising to stand. “What do you teach?”

Hob stands to his feet after you, tucking the papers close to his chest, looking abashed. “History.”

A strange, unfamiliar weight forms in your chest, climbing up and up. Laughter permeates through the air—not ridiculing, but instead genuinely charmed by the simple irony.

“Hob Gadling, I think you and I will get on just fine.”

“So let me get this straight: his name is Dream of the Endless, he rules over dreams and nightmares of every living thing, is as old as the universe itself, and comes from a family of Endless, and he’s missing. Presumed kidnapped.”

With your legs outstretched before you, you cross them at the ankles, cradling your hot mug. “Just about.”

Hob wears an air of a man who just discovered how tiny his existence in this terrible universe is. You don’t hold it against him. Even you struggle with existential insignificance from time to time. In this, you’re comrades.

You’re tucked away in his tiny but homey kitchen. Hob’s entire flat is well-lived in, welcoming, and cosy. Compact, but each corner is cared for. Sparsely furnished in muted earthy tones and riddled with indicators of history Hob got to live through, not read about. Only essentials dot his apartment, and you love that about his home, about him. It’s modesty borne from a long life, a realisation of how little value there is in material wealth.

Hob hangs his head, dragging his hand through his hair. “I miss the days when I thought it was the Devil.”

Another fleeting smile touches your lips. “I bet.”

He eyes you closely. You blow innocently into your piping hot drink to clear steam tickling over your chin and mouth. In the far corner, your coat lays draped precariously over a tiny radiator, drying.

“And you were once mortal like me but were cursed to wander between dimensions for all eternity. And if you stay in one place for too long, bad things happen to you. Eternal bad luck.”

“In essence.”

Considering the information torrent you’ve unleashed on him, he’s delightfully quick on the processing. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised. He is over six hundred years old. But Hob’s exposure to the otherworldly is spotty at best. This would be overwhelming for anyone.

His face slacks suddenly. “Wait. Are you… no.”

You hover over your cup, confused by this sudden burst of confounded shock. “Hob, I don’t read minds.”

“Are you the Wanderer?”

Your moniker washes over you, folding its fingers around your heart, cradling it. Centuries—entire millennia—spent waiting to be recognised in some capacity. Finally. Every photo, drawing, and written account were eradicated, but not stories. Not memory. Not even the curse can erase what has no physical presence. Ideas, stories, dreams—they’re unkillable. Dream of the Endless taught you that.

No matter the circumstances, it robs you of speech for a moment whenever you hear your title now—rare as it is.

“You’ve heard of me.”

Hob’s beaming grin is lopsided, his stare wide and eager. “You’re… a fable. I mean, nans tell stories about you.” His voice pitches higher. “‘If you’re good and eat your veggies, Gary, then whenever you’re in trouble, a stranger wearing a dark coat dusted in stardust will turn up and help you.’ Ha! That’s you. Brilliant.”

Sipping your drink, you mumble, “I do what I can sometimes.”

Hob chews over his thoughts for a contemplative minute, his grin diminishing. “But why? After so long, after all humanity has done to you… why help?”

From anyone else, you would dislike the insistence to unearth a reason. To pry into wounds unhealed, waiting to be freshly torn apart. Dream’s absence, then, punctures you afresh, hot and agonising, not the dull throb it had numbed into.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Hob stares at you, silent and heartbreakingly human despite his six hundred years. In him, you see nothing but drive to understand; a hand outstretched in hopes he’s found someone to connect with after centuries.

“Once, I believed I could change destiny. Break it. If I had this curse, the least I could do is help others.” The liquid inside your cup sloshes from side to side in a slow pattern. Inhaling, you ponder how best to explain the struggle, a journey you had to go on to accept your own place in this universe. “So, once, I warned an entire village doom is oncoming. They listened. Evacuated. Elderly, children, wives and husbands and their animals. It was spring, so they couldn’t travel via river due to floods. The mountain pass was already treacherous, but another storm hit in the evening. Landslide. They all died. Had I not intervened, some of them might have lived. It took my friend and I three days to bury everyone. I wanted to do it properly. I owed them as much.”

You’re not sure if Hob is breathing. Muted, thumping sounds from the pub below fill the silence.

Swallowing down your pain at the recollection, you continue, “Those were the early day. After that, I learned how to pick my battles. That it’s better to save someone than no one. Sometimes it’s as simple as making sure someone makes it home safe. It's enough. It has to be.” You finally turn towards him, meeting his forlorn stare. “They wither and die, Hob—that’s punishment enough. I used to resent them, run from them. But not anymore.”

His adam’s apple bobs. “That’s awfully sad. To bear that weight.”

Shifting in your seat, you shake off the gloomy atmosphere, indulging in rare curiosity yourself. “Isn’t it the same for you?”

Hob blinks, clearing the shine reflecting in his eyes. “A little. But we don’t see the future.” His head snaps up. “You don’t, right? See the future?”

You shake your head with a faint smile, and his shoulders lump with relief. “Okay, yeah, well. For us, everything is happening too, just like everyone else, right? We only live long enough to call it history, not the present.”

Your nail scratches the rim of your cup. “You have a point there.”

A lull settles between you. You’ve grown to appreciate silence, too. Or rather, how rare it is to sit with someone and not feel compelled to saturate the air with words. How precious the ability to rest beside someone and simply breathe is.

Hob is the first to speak; his inquisitiveness never subdued for long. “You knew me when we met. How?”

“Dream.”

Confusion mars his face. “He made no mention of you.”

Despite his audible disappointment at this fact, your gaze drops to the table separating you. “No. I suppose he won’t have.”

A restless beat, then, “We have to find him.”

You lower the cup back onto the table. Slowly, your limbs disentangle from your comfortable, slumped position. Whatever Hob reads in your body language makes him sit up. Your elbows dig into the wooden structure beneath you, your spine straight and jaw set with unyielding firmness as you regard him.

“Why?” you demand.

Immediate response, no uncertainty: “Because he’s my friend, and he’s a bloody idiot.” Hob’s features soften. “But this world needs him.”

“I’ve been trying to find him for the last century. No luck. Every force in the universe has been opposing me and punishing me for trying.”

Hob’s earnest stare doesn’t waver at the tart insinuation. You lean across the creaky table in a small kitchen half a world away, where the world is only as big as your hands can stretch on either side of your body.

“Would you like to help me, Hob Gadling?”

Sheer relief lines Hob’s face. “God, yes.”

“And then there’s the hunger.”

A groan climbs up, vibrating in your throat. “I hate it. Nothing worse. You get so hungry you go quite numb. It’s bizarre. Then there’s the permanent headache.”

Hob looks hopeful. “Nosebleeds?”

“And the nosebleeds.”

Hob laughs at the indignant edge in your voice, taking a generous swing of his beer. You’ve spent the last two hours precisely like this. Camped in his kitchen, discussing finer points of immortality and all the nuisances that come with it. Swapping various stories over the centuries and savouring not having to hide for once.

“Say, what’s the worst way to go for you?” Hob questions, raising his beer bottle by the neck. “People used to be scared of decapitation, but… listen, not the worst. It’s quick. Anticipation is worse, I reckon. Drowning is nasty. Fought through it the first time. Learned it’s easier to just…”

He mimics gulping a breath and slumps his head to the side. “What about you?” He peers at you over the curved glass, sobering instantly at whatever he finds. “Sorry, that’s insensitive. I shouldn’t have.”

Your words come out alien, wooden around the edges, “Burning alive. With drowning, there’s control. Burning is just, well, you burn. It’s slow.”

Excruciating, unending when you’re in the moment. Phantom ash coats your tongue to this day.

Hob dips his head sympathetically. “Fire is nasty.”

“Experienced it?”

A subtle grimace. “Great Fire of London in ‘66.”

It's your turn to offer him a sympathetic nod. “I walked in the aftermath with a friend. I’m sorry.”

Whenever disaster struck, Death and Destruction were usually not far behind. Sometimes you can’t help but ponder if the fire was one of the last stones that pushed Destruction to his decision. His implications back then that humanity would create a horror unlike any other were lost on you until the atomic bomb was assembled centuries later. Then, at long last, it all made sense.

“What about sleep?” Hob steers the conversation away from unpleasant history, and you’re grateful. “I don’t die from it, obviously, but without sleep, things get all… bright, confusing, and very bloody loud.”

You sit back in your seat. “That’s because your mind becomes untethered, and you start drifting towards Madness. Delirium's domain. Dream’s younger sister. Be glad you’ve never fully entered. Most can only reach it through drug consumption. Mortal minds are not made for trespassing there.”

Hob’s mouth rests parted, digesting the information. He’s curious and sharp, and there’s a particular pleasure in expanding his worldview.

“Why didn’t he tell me about you?” His aggravated outburst is so sudden you instinctively tense before relaxing again. Hob weaves his fingers together, looking quite put out. “I would have sought you out. There’s so much I could have learned from you. So much we could have shared together. Maybe… all this won’t have been so lonely had I only known someone like me was out there.”

A needle lodges in your throat, prickling you with emotion at his heartfelt words. In the back of your mind, you can visualise it crystal clear, all those adventures you could have shared. But unlike with all others who flowed in and out of your life, you won’t have to worry about Hob dying. He would always be there, another permanent.

“There’s Mad Hettie,” you supply weakly.

Hob’s regard has sharpened, probing. “You know what I mean,” he insists, leaning over. “And she’s younger than us. Why didn’t you seek me out?”

How can you articulate it? How do you explain human fault? Pettiness?

Swallowing thickly, you hang your head. One breath, two, then you meet his patient gaze, resolute. “Because I was jealous.”

Disbelief colours his features, but you rush ahead before he can interrupt, “I thought about it constantly. A life where I was not cursed. Where I simply got lucky with immortality the way you did. What I would have given for it. Dream was so invested in you and your journey. I was jealous because he and the Dreaming were all I had. I feared…”

“You didn’t want him to replace you.”

You nod at his soft deduction.

Hob leans across the table until you have no choice but to meet him halfway. “Dream won’t have kept you by his side for a thousand years if he didn’t want you around, don’t you think?”

His mild, comforting words compel sardonic amusement from you. “He didn’t. He banished me.”

Hob splutters, blanching. “He what?”

“A friend of a friend of a friend deals with the metaphysical. Well, he’s obsessed. More fitting term.” Hob hands you the card in his hand. “Anyway, he says this woman is the best necromancer in the country. Deals with any occult business for the right price. It’ll cost us a pretty penny, but she’s the place to start.”

Johanna Constantine.

Life has a fine sense of irony, indeed. You thought you laid this particular hurt to rest. Centuries had passed. Yet, Edward’s snarky grin springs back to mind instantly. His hand encompassing but firm around yours. Constantines. You failed them. You promised late Lady Johanna you would look out for her descendants, but after Edward, after Dream’s disappearance…

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Because I have,” you admit in a faint, defeated breath. “But this is a good idea. Let’s go.”

“Oi, Mickey, look at this.”

Two young men in black hoodies block your path. One wears a cap pulled low over his brow, while another glares you both down, hunched. Hob stops beside you, a quiet hiss escaping his mouth. He plasters an effortless, charming smile on his face. Modest and easy-going. He’s good. Even you would be put at ease by the placating sincerity in it.

“C'mon, lads, we don’t want any trouble. We’re just here to see Miss Constantine.”

The one without a cap drags his tongue over his front teeth. “Whatcha want with Jo?”

Hob doesn’t hesitate; smooth and calm. “Hire.”

“So, you’re rich-rich, eh?” The one with the cap steps up, crowding your space, glinting metal tucked in his hand, brandishing between you. “Hand over the wallet, and we won’t knife you. Or your lady friend.”

You tilt your head, hands in your pockets. “Put the knife away and go.”

The two young men burst out laughing, sharing an amused look.

“Did ya hear her?” The one with the cap bites out. “And I should listen, why? ‘Cause princess says so?”

Hob loosens anticipatory breath, tense at your side.

“Because you’re friends with Constantine.” They likely all grew up on the same estate, and now they’re playing at being her poor security. You can’t imagine any Constantine taking kindly to such a gesture. They’re universally too proud to accept help. But Constantines are also excellent at drawing trouble their way, so this arrangement must work on some level. “You’re looking out for her. I once had a friend who did the same for me.”

The wooden figurine in your pocket promptly becomes ten times heavier than moments earlier.

Mickey snorts, a deep, nasally sound. “Looking out for her? She’s a selfish shit.”

“Yet here you are.” A soft smile pulls at the seams of your mouth. “Which means you must know it’s real. All those nasty things in the dark she deals with. I’m one of them.”

Their shit-eating grins dim slightly. “You’re taking the piss. Enough with the jokes.”

The knife raises, glinting in the dim street light. So much for Hob’s suggestion you should take a shortcut.

“I walked this earth during an age humanity has all but forgotten.” The young man halts midstep at your calm words. “The only thing older than me around here is this city, which I’ve seen crumble and rebuild several dozen times. So put your knife away, and go.”

This time both men—boys, they’re barely adults—gape at you in tense silence. Hob is as still as stone beside you.

You venture a step closer, then another, until the blade's tip pokes into your stomach. “I would never harm Johanna. You have my word. But if you try to use that knife as I can tell you want to, I will grab you by the scruff and drop you in a pocket dimension so dark no one will hear your screams. Not even you.”

The hand holding the knife trembles. You draw back slowly, giving the young man a gracious smile, looking towards your companion. “Shall we, Hob?”

You walk past without another interruption.

“Uh, so. Good job.” Hob begins when you’re a reasonable distance from the duo, some tension vanishing from his taut body. “I didn’t have to punch anyone this time. It makes for a nice change.”

The wind flutters your coat around your legs. “Are you any good?”

His chest puffs up. “Excellent, I’ll have you know.”

It’s not until you cross the street and the address on the printed card stares back at you that Hob pauses. “Could you do it?”

Your stride doesn’t waver. “Do what?”

“Take people into different dimensions? Drop ‘em there.”

There’s a cautious note in his words, his unease tucked away but not altogether imperceptible to you.

His actual question rings loud and clear beneath the blase act. Have you done it in the past?

You grasp the metal handle, freezing to the touch, pulling the door open. “Never tried it.” You hesitate, shooting him a brief, humoured glance. “They didn’t know that, though.”

Tension melts from Hob with that light-hearted comment, and he smiles, stepping right after you.

“What do you want?”

Hob glances around the room as if confused by the frank question. “To hire you.”

Johanna Constantine inclines back in her chair, examining you both with a narrowed, cynical gaze. She’s a splitting image of her dead ancestor—a slim, short woman with dark brown hair and round eyes. As beautiful as Lady Johanna was. Your first glimpse of her had nearly frozen you in your tracks, and the reason for their similarities is abundantly clear.

Reincarnation.

It’s been a while since you’ve encountered it. Why Death grants it to specific individuals is beyond you, nor have you ever pried into the reasons behind it. Some mortals are simply meant to do more and have another life to lead.

“No shit. What for?” Her attention snaps to you, further narrowing, bristling when your stares clash. “Sorry, but why are you staring at me?”

There’s no reason to lie, so you don’t. “It’s been a while since I’ve met a Constantine.”

Johanna’s finely-shaped brows hitch up. “You’ve met a lot of us, have you?” she mutters snidely.

You’re unfazed by her tone. “Most.” You exhale deeply, surprised by how difficult this is. “You remind me of him.”

“Who?”

In your peripheral, you see Hob slant in your direction as well. In the dimly lit, cramped office space, there’s a sense the darkness will reflect whatever you divulge.

“Edward Constantine.”

Johanna’s proud cast cracks slightly. “That’s my… who are you?”

Regret. For having failed her up to this point. It’s clear Johanna is doing well for herself and is a powerful sorcerer the way all her ancestors were, but this is personal neglect. “You already know who I am. Was it the stories? Edward told me he would pass them onto his ancestors.”

The brunette's jaw flutters, her gaze glazed. “No. You’re fucking with me.”

You keep your expression open, your mouth resting in a gentle slant.

“Hello, Johanna. I’m the Wanderer.”

Harsh denial and irritation spark to life instantly. “You’re a story—a fairytale.”

“Aren’t we all?”

She scoffs, shaking her head, but her eyes won’t drift from you for a split second, pulling apart every detail.

“My mum used to tell me stories about you every night.” Some melancholic childhood nostalgia seizes her for scant few seconds, and then Johanna schools herself with a faint sneer. “She said I had to be good because one day, Wanderer will knock on our door and take me on an adventure. Some stories depict you as a woman, others as a man or everything in between. Others say you’re no human at all. But a God cursed to wear human skin and prowl forever in starlight.”

You hear the bitterness in her words; a childhood hope crushed when she was forced to grow up, her childhood hero absent. Hopes of grand adventures dashed. How long before you became no more than another figment lost with her girlhood? Once, you were a significant part of her family’s history.

“Some truth to it,” you say. “One has to get creative about disguises. Everything must serve you, or nothing will.”

In this dark, cramped office, it’s as if Johanna is not entirely sure what to make of you. If she can or should trust your presence here. “The benevolent stranger,” she muses. “Those stories used to make me laugh. A load of waffle.”

“You’re lying,” you say kindly. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you sooner. But I’m here now, and we need your help.”

Johanna huffs, the fiercely unhappy sound reverberating. “Why should I? You’re nothing to me.”

Hob, who sat patiently beside you, interjects with a dry, “Because we’re paying you. A lot.”

Johanna pushes to her feet, her palms pressing into the table. “Maybe I don’t care to work for two mugs.”

“Hey! Rude,” Hob exclaims.

“Sit down, Johanna Constantine.”

Silence barbs the room at your quiet, point-blank words. Johanna straightens from her momentarily frozen position, her expression pinching with barely veiled chagrin.

“Is that meant to intimidate me?” she demands, crossing her arms.

“No,” you say plainly. You direct your gaze back towards the vacated chair. “I’m asking you to listen. Please sit.”

Johanna doesn’t. She stands rigid, arms crossed, strong and proud, proving a point. You let her. If anything, the unyielding, stubborn edge brings back fond memories. Perhaps that’s why you’ve taken such a shine to her bloodline—Constantines don’t bow; others bow to them.

Hob shifts, visibly uncomfortable in his seat, while the silence persists.

“Fine,” Johanna finally spits out, grinding her delicate jaw. Yanking back the chair, she drops onto it heavily. “What are you searching for?”

You don’t comment on your little standoff.

“Not a what, a who.” You pretend to miss the glimmer of intrigue now lurking in her regard. “He goes by many names, but in modern society, he would be known as the Sandman.”

Johanna snorts. “Sandman. Wait, are you being proper serious? Right.”

You don’t share in her amusement. “A hundred years ago, he disappeared from his realm and did not return.” Johanna’s snide smile falls away at the tangible heaviness tucked in your words. “Since then, your world has suffered the consequences of his absence. Encephalitis lethargica. Ring any bells? Persistent nightmares? Restless sleep? He’s alive, but he’s most likely been warded. Heavily. Unfortunately, I have no magical abilities myself. I can’t locate him.”

Johanna’s trimmed fingernails tap on the table, homour long since forgotten. “Why not ask a witch for help?”

A humourless smile graces your face. “I have. Several. It… didn’t work out.”

Too weak, traitors, or those who simply refused to help. No mortal witch is as powerful as the Three, and after they turned you away, you accepted that was a dead end.

“And you expect me to get involved despite what you just told me?” Johanna poses sarcastically.

“Yes,” you reply, unblinking. Her tapping ceases. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Clicking her tongue, the other woman purses her mouth, biting amusement coming back full force. “I thought you knew my lot. We’re all selfish and self-obsessed. Or so they say.”

“You are,” you agree without hesitation, and her brows rise scornfully. “But you also do the right thing when it matters most. Look, does anything spring to mind? Anything that might not have been in the papers. Anything your family might have observed? Written down? Just tell us this much, and we’ll leave.”

You’re not sure what passes between you. Eye to eye, you view each other with a stranger’s wariness, but underlying history neither can entirely ignore.

This time, when Johanna stands, she pins you down with a no-nonsense glare. “Stay here.”

She heads for the adjoined room, and a small smile tugs your lips upwards.

Hob puffs out a breath, hands on his thighs, mouthing so lightly his lips scarcely move. “Guess this means she’s helping us after all.”

“I’m only doing this so you two fuck off.”

“We gathered,” Hob mutters.

Johanna drops a thick volume onto the table, sending pencils and pens rattling in their plastic holders. Hob’s flat stare borders on comical, but your attention goes to the book. You’ve seen one of these in the past. Not faded with age as it is now—old Constantine family journals. You’re amazed to see this one intact.

Johanna flips through the pages with efficient ease, stopping halfway. The spine creaks when she spreads the book open fully, tapping on a faded newspaper clipping portraying an older man. Strong, once handsome square features, but cruel, empty eyes.

“Roderick Burgess. They called him the Demon King.” Johanna flips to the next page, and Hob moves the table lamp closer, shining it over yellowed parchment. “A hundred years ago, the old bastard had a sudden turn in fortune. Some began whispering that he was consorting with demons. But good ol’ Burgess himself boasted that he had the Devil locked up in his basement.”

Devil? Your brows knit, a tingle racing down your spine. Could it be?

“Bet that made him real popular with the locals,” Hob jokes from your right.

Johanna hesitates over turning the page. “He was rich, so no one cared.”

Your fingertips trace the flowing script discussing Burgess’ parties and his company. “Was his power true?” you question curiously.

“He supposedly had some skill.” Johanna flips several pages in succession, pointing at another faded photograph. “He was the one who founded the Order of Ancient Mysteries. And another interesting thing.”

She tugs free a cutout between pages at the back, unruffling it for a clear view. “Magdalenes Grimoire was reported stolen from the museum around the same time.”

“So he stole it,” Hob concludes, peering at you questioningly. “And used it to…what? Capture Dream?”

No, it’s not so simple. Capturing an Endless is comparable to capturing a hurricane using a butterfly net with holes. It’s the one aspect of this problem that’s never made sense. Who could capture an Endless, and what power did they employ for such a deed?

Deliberative sound hums from Johanna. “If the cookbook has spells strong enough in it, maybe. Here in the darkness.”

You flinch. Your palm clumsily hits the table, body shuddering. Hob’s arm shots out, steadying you by the forearm.

“Are you alright?”

Sucking in a breath, you blink rapidly, rubbing your chest with a frown. To your left, a rain-dotted window reveals a vacant street shrouded in darkness, nothing else.

You thought—

No.

You’re just being stupid. There is no way you just felt—

“Yeah, sorry,” you mumble, physically shucking off your frazzled thoughts. “What happened to Roderick?”

Johanna hops her attention from you to Hob, then back to you. “He died. What else? His son, Alex, inherited everything.”

Curling your fingers, you straighten your shoulders. Your hands slip into your pockets, locking around a wooden figurine and—

The pebble rubs into your palm, over and over. Is it warmer? It’s been icy to the touch for centuries but now—

Realising both Hob and Johanna are watching you patiently, you drop the pebble, clearing your throat deliberately.

“We need to find him. Can you get us an address?” you ask.

She’s sceptical, but the thrill, the desire to spit in danger’s face, propels her forward. “And your plan is to, what?”

You share a glance with Hob. Innocently, you say, “We’re going to survey this Devil Alex Burgess supposedly has locked in his basement.”

Johanna perks up with open interest for the first time since you arrived. “Survey, eh? Sounds like fun.”

On your lengthy trek back to Hob’s flat, he asks, “Have you ever…?”

A gnawing pain ricochets through your chest. “Yeah.”

Hob appears crushed at your strangled admission, his voice gentle and kind, “Okay.”

“How does it work?”

“Hm?”

Hob hands you a wet plate, and you dry it mindlessly, so lost in your thoughts that his question doesn’t register at first. He invited you to stay for dinner, and perhaps it’s how simple and comfortable it is with him, but you chose to stay. Selfishly so, perhaps.

Muted kitchen light washes over Hob’s profile, his hands stuck in the soapy sink water. He picks up another plate.

“You told me you jump through dimensions.”

You suppose it’s not something one hears every day. Drying the last plate, you place it on the counter, striding towards the fridge wedged in the corner. Skewered on top is a fresh crop of homework in desperate need of marking. You rifle through the pile to find spare paper. Hob doesn’t impede you, and you wonder if that means something, too, that you’ve only known each other several days, but he permits you this familiarity.

You wriggle your fingers in his direction. “Pass me that pencil.”

Hob dries his hands, doing so without a word. You head towards the table where your drinks still stand, half unfinished. “Okay, so. Imagine this piece of paper is our world.”

You hold a blank paper in your outstretched palm.

Hob stares. “It’s flat?”

“No,” you retort, pinching your nose to hide your crooked grin. “Dimensions are… difficult to explain. You have to experience it. It’s honestly more like a rubber band ball. I just pull on each individual band to jump places.”

You pick up a second sheet, holding it over the first, resuming your explanation, “Imagine this sheet is another dimension. They overlap. Everything, everywhere, is constantly overlapping. Sudden death? It happens because humans end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dimensional overlaps walked in on at the wrong time can kill you instantly.”

Hob picks up his bear, listening attentively. “Is that why you feel so heavy in certain places? Like you shouldn’t be there.”

You nod approvingly. “Exactly.” Pinching the pencil, you hold the two sheets together, thrusting the pencil clean through the middle. The page rips, the pencil lodged in the middle. You tap on the protruding tip. “So, this is me.”

Hob looks positively horrified. “That looks… painful.”

“It is. Human bodies aren’t made for it. That’s the point. It’s gotten better. I learned a lot. Time patterns mostly.”

Hob follows your fingers while you scribble random combinations. Numbers that make sense to anyone but you. “There are ways to… suppress it. I did a lot of testing. How long can I keep the curse at bay? How long can I linger in a single stay? How long do I go away before I can come back to reset the curse? If physical or emotional stimuli influence it. The waking world, or the human world to you, is the worst affected because I was once human. Beings from other realms are not so easily impacted.”

Intrigue lines his face, attempting to discern what you’ve written on the ripped paper. “How come?”

“Because the curse is human in origin,” you tell him bluntly. You weren’t sure at first because it seemed like magic too powerful for any sorcerer or witch to accomplish casually. “There are beings out there far older than humanity. With the other Endless, for example, it tends to be mostly bad luck contained to me. Periodically it leads to almost death, but their power is far greater than the curse, so it doesn’t affect them the same way it would a mortal. Essentially, with humanity, the curse spreads outwards. With the Endless, it draws inwards, to me.”

Hob mulls over those words silently, tugging on his earlobe while he does so. He does that often. A habit you’ve come to associate with him since your first conversation. Subconscious but endearing. Does he do it while he teaches too?

“But not… the Dreaming,” Hob says in deep thought. “Why is that an exception?”

“I have theories,” you admit, tapping the pencil rhythmically. “But only one can confirm them. And he’s about as likely to give me answers as I’m likely to run down the Tower Bridge naked.”

Hob chortles, nearly choking on his beer. “You bloody well could and then just pop out for a hundred years.” He hesitates. “No family then? No… lover?”

You doodle—a breathtaking island where people once wandered in their dreams. “If I had a family, I don’t remember them. As for lovers...”

A slight catch in your voice doesn’t escape his heed.

“Him?” Hob prompts quietly, knowingly.

No reply, yet you both share in a compassionate moment of mute understanding.

“How about you?” you wonder.

At long last, a chip in Hob’s amiable armour appears. “Had a wife and a son. They both died.” He swallows down his pain, and you know all too well what that’s like. “Occasional lover now and again, nothing permanent, though.”

“I’m sorry, Hob.”

He shrugs, but traces of hurt remain. “It was a long time ago.”

“You’re brave,” you tell him, lowering the pencil. “I’ve seen what grief can do to people.”

“I do it for them,” he says suddenly, breathing out deeply. You can’t help but mutely ponder if this is the first time he’s admitted it to anyone, even himself. “To have a gift like this and waste it? Nah. Only a mug would. Gotta experience it all. Live for them.”

Dream’s fascination with Hob finally makes sense. You should have known he would be special, but to experience it for yourself is different. “Still want to live then?”

To your unspoken surprise, Hob doesn't rush to respond. He instead deliberates for a while.

“I’ve seen terrible things, done terrible things I’m ashamed of to this day. Always will be. I’ve loved and lost. A lot. But I’ve found new reasons to go on through it all.” A toothy, happy smile splits his face. “It’s gorgeous out there, isn’t it? I’m in love with all of it—good and bad. What?”

“Nothing,” you say softly, watching him fondly. “It’s late. I should head back.”

Hob hurries to his feet when you rise, tucking your coat closer around your body. “There’s a spare room here,” he suggests hurriedly. “You can stay. You’re always most welcome to stay.”

You instinctively seek your tokens. Smooth, loved wood and a warm pebble. “Thank you, Hob. It means a great deal to me. But it’s better if I go. I’ll need to return often for the search, so better reduce the strain with as many gaps as possible.”

You pivot on your heels, heading towards the door. Hob pursues you several paces behind.

“But I’m like you,” he argues. “Maybe it doesn’t influence me the same way.”

His words die off when you level him with a heavy, pained look.

Too many times. You’ve risked and hoped and believed too many times. You like him, and it would break you immediately if you had to lose someone else right now. You’re hanging on by sheer will alone. Cut off. No Dream, no Corinthian, no Endless. You’ve never felt more alone. If it weren’t for Lucienne and Merv, you might have gone insane, lost yourself completely. Just this once, you want to have something happy to look towards.

“I’ll be back in two days,” you say reassuringly.

You turn the handle, but Hob speaks before you can leave. “I used to think I’m the loneliest man in the world. But then you came along.” In the small hall, you survey each other with equal fascination. “How do you bear it?”

Your head slants backwards, viewing lines in his ceiling.

“Because of people like you,” you tell him frankly. “You inspire me. Remind me why I’m here. Why I help. You asked me earlier if I miss Dream. I do. But I see him in everything. In everyone. Hopes and dreams that make humanity so beautiful. Your love for life is a gift, Hob. Never lose it.”

His head hangs low, raw emotion crumpling his features as he nods shakily. You head outside without further ado, strolling down the stairs. You’re not surprised to hear a second set of footsteps join you moments later.

“I gave it some thought,” Hob calls out behind you. “About why Dream didn’t tell me about you.”

Because I’m nothing to him. Because he only ever put up with me. You’re a wonder, Hob Gadling, and I’m a curse meant to plague this Earth.

“It’s just the way he is.”

Your footsteps echo, beating on the creaking wood underfoot.

“Nah. You got it all wrong,” Hob retorts in a singsong voice. Pushing the door outside, you enter the cool night together, drizzle still present from the earlier deluge. “You assume he didn’t tell me because he doesn’t care about you. But the way I see it, it’s the exact opposite.”

His words force you to a halt, but your back stays turned to him. A rumbling chuckle fills the air, as if this sudden epiphany is giving Hob some private happiness. “After everything you told me about your curse, I think you’re the one he cares about the most. Maybe not telling me was him being a little selfish. Just this once, he didn’t want to share you with the universe.”

What can you possibly say in reply? So terribly you wish it were true. What would it be like to know it’s not apathy to your mere existence but deep, slightly selfish care, an unwillingness to be parted from you driving Dream? To be instead cherished and preferred. Wanted.

Wanderer, you are henceforth banished from the Dreaming. Take your secrets and your curse, and begone.

Your fists clench so painfully that your shoulders curve inwards. “You’re gonna like this part,” you tell him, your words shaky as you peer at the man lingering in the doorway.

Hob’s brows draw inwards. “What?”

Forcing a smile, you shove your hands into your pockets and snap away with a crack.

Sun hasn’t shone in the Dreaming in over a hundred years.

You miss it.

The bridge is precarious to thread on, so you attempt to land in or near the castle nowadays. You’ve honed your skill further in the last century, inch by agonising inch. The curse trashes inside your chest, settling as your physical body follows, adjusting to a new realm.

The Gatekeepers do not move at your approach. They’re now no more than stone, chipping apart like everything else.

Your lonely trek up the staircase is silent, the castle entrance looming. For a realm once so bursting with sound and life, there’s now only absence. The first time you noticed that overbearing emptiness, something in you shattered to pieces. But as you head deeper inside, a distant echo of Lucienne’s voice reaches your ears. Folding your coat closer around yourself, you formulate your words inside your head.

“Lucienne,” you start, attempting to inject lightness into your voice. “This lead is different. I can feel—”

You stumble to a stop, a partially granulated pillar revealing a lithe, dark figure perched on the staircase. Lucienne’s head swivels in your direction as the figure on the stairs stretches to his full height at your entry.

Blood pounds so deafeningly inside your head that you don’t hear your strangled breaths. Heat licks all over, pounding through your veins. It’s some sick joke, some awful sick joke—

He can’t be here. Over a hundred and seventy years you hadn’t seen Dream of the Endless. Last time you stood just like this, and he had told you to leave, go, and not come back until—

There are no words for the look he bestows you with. For it’s not a look any mortal could ever give. It’s so devastatingly endless, gentle and brutal all at once that it strips your heart to ribbons. It’s as if he takes apart atoms making up your body and lovingly slots them back together, fusing them anew. He views you through dimensions, planes, and every measure and grain of time. He sees in you the beginning and end of all things. In one pulsing look, you live and die and are reborn again a billion times.

Dream’s stare flicks down your body, the coat—

His coat.

Something hot pulses through the air, tingling your chilled, clammy skin.

His hand stretches towards you. “Wanderer.”

You rip yourself away from the Dreaming in a single breath.

an: I know a few might be a lil disappointed at the lack of Dream (and Corinthian) in this chapter, but Sandman is a story about stories, and I suppose this is my personal tribute to Neil's wonderful work. A chapter about stories and the power of storytelling. How much it can inspire and connect people. Trust me, though, the next chapter will be 👀 Hope you enjoyed it!!!

and sorry for the mistakes. It's almost 3am here, and I wrote 5k of this in one sitting + editing. with English not being my native language, I always find editing to be a pain. love you!!!

#the sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #sandman fic #sandman x reader #netflix sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #sandman x you #dream of the endless x reader #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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theriverbeyond · 4 months

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have you seen any breakdown of the political situation on New Rho (in New Rho? is the rest of the planet also populated? I think at one point someone says "down in Ur" but maybe there is an application of 2-dimensional direction terms to 3d space I havent yet thought of). Like who do they mean by militia, who is the government (who is the police?), is there any official house presence, what is the status of the barracks, who manned the spaceport, what power does BoE hold and how are they viewed in the population (Hot Sauce denounces them but who is her faction-that Pyrrha saw her with-then?) and do they know how splintered and farspread it is? what is the siege the blurb is speaking of, just the imperial emissaries showing up?

Also assuming the BoE wings are all named after different planetary settlements which seem in turn to be named after cities in the ancient near east (ur, merv, ctesiphon), why isnt new rho? but i might be misinterpreting this.

Also where does the Empire want non-House humanity to end up? They seem to be turning planets left and right with no endgoal. And how many settled planets might there be?

Sorry I'm dumping this all at you, I havent seen any worldbuilding discussion here on tumblr at all really so maybe you can redirect me somewhere.

Thankies, keep up the good work (posting)

I HAVE seen posts about the political situation on New Rho including analysis posts that were very interesting and I have utterly failed to tag them appropriately, I am sorry -- if anyone who sees this has links to that meta pls add on/reply to help anon!

But to cover the rest of your points:

What is Ur?

Ur is mentioned twice that i can find, in ch 16: Ianthe says that the end has come to the "rebels of Ur", and a person in the crowd says "Ur is fighting".

EDIT: big thank you to @eskildit in replies: "There are four total references to Ur- Corona also says that Judith is in the Ur facility and Kiriona says that the 6th house is "parked outside the Ur system". Could be that Ur is the planet New Rho is located on. While we refer the nine houses as planets, canonically the houses are actually "installations" on each planet with quite small populations. New Rho alone, which is specifically stated to be just one city on a resettled planet, is 3x the size of the 6th house"

It may have been mentioned more times, but Kindle search is giving me the 2,320 times the letters "ur" were used next to each other so I'm ngl I cannot sift through that. Rather than being a city, though, I actually am assuming that Ur is another planet entirely! This is due to multi-planet SciFi in general treating entire planets like countries or even big cities. Like…. planets are huge. There are thousands of different cultures on a planet, but in SciFi planets are often like. One Big City. One Big Country, if you have a particularly ambitious worldbuilder. See: Star Wars, the Nine Houses themselves, etc. not saying that Ur cannot be on New Rho, just that I don't think it is because this is multi-planet Sci Fi.

The militia/civic government?

In chapter 6 a distinction is made between "the militia and the old civic govnerment". Following that, I think the civic government was probably installed by the Houses, as a ruling party that is friendly to them/House interests. I think the militia is a non-unified population of hired guns, that probably revolted at some point priot to the story. It does seem like at least some section of the militia is in power in most of the city, but I do not think there is one coherent government at the moment

Official house presence?

Yes, because there are official cohort barracks. I don't think they have much political leverage by the time NtN rolls around, though

Barrack status?

Under siege due to the people of New Rho hating them/political instability/possible militia revolt, doing badly otherwise because any and all necromancers are suffering from Blue Madness/RB proximity, as seen in ch 20 when Ianthe mentioned some of them were so poorly she had to put them down.

Space port?

I am assuming the civic government/House was originally in charge. unsure of who is in charge during NtN

What power does BOE hold?

Unclear. It seems like BOE itself is fractionated, with a lot of animosity held between different factions, and a lot of both animosity AND collaboration between different factions of BOE, the militia, the population, and the old civic government. It is a very decentralized resistance force, despite sharing a name. BOE do not appear to BE the official government, or BE the militia, though, but I would not be surprised if some groups had ties to one or both. It seems like they have influence both socially and politically but it is unclear what that power is... some factions have some amount of power. Over some parts. But!! it seems that during the events of NtN they had more power than in the past ("best hand they were ever delt", chapter 1)

How is BOE viewed by the population?

My guess is they have mixed reviews. I think a lot of people probably rely on them for resources/protection even if they don't like or fully trust them. I think a lot of people probably see them as extremists and wish they were less extreme (the liberals, u could say). Like Hot Sauce and the gang, a lot of people probably think they aren't radical enough and wish they would resist more, harder, differently. I think a lot of people probably deeply support them, either physically by being part of BOE or by providing resources/etc, or quietly because they are afraid of retaliation by the House or civil government. A lot of the population probably has opinions about BOE versus the militia, BOE verus House, BOE versus the civic government, based on their own interests/position/power. This is a really long answer that can boil down to "idk"

What is the siege?

I think the siege is the cohort being sieged into the barracks. I am guessing there was some sort of revolt in the local government, probably related to Blue Madness weakening the cohort, and they have pushed the cohort into the barracks. , as described in chapters 1 ("the cohort dies like anyone else under seige") and chapter 20 ("the barracks siege").

What group is Hot Sauce in if she denounced BOE?

Hot Sauce specifically calls BOE "fat cats" and "zombie lovers" in chapter 15, after noting that she, Honesty, and Born in the Morning, as well as Born in the Morning's father, are "active" in with an unnamed group at the park. It is unclear what group that is, if it has a name, or if it is organized in any capacity. From what little we know, it appears it is a group of people who are more radical than BOE, which I think is either ex-BOE members that were pushed out for their radial choices/beliefs, or civilians/other freedom fighters that aren't satisfied with what BOE is doing. But beyond that I have no idea

BOE wing names vs New Rho?

So BOE wings are named after historic Earth cities. Ctesiphon, Troia, Merv, Valencia (which is not historic to us, as it exists today, but WOULD be history in 10k years). They are named by BOE, likely to keep connection to Earth, just like BOE people-names. "New Rho", on the other hand, is likely named by the House. Rhodes is a place on the 7th house (see: 7th cavalier is the "Knight of Rhodes"), and I assumed that New Rho was like. The house naming shit. Like how New York is named after York in England, even though that area of land already had a name (Lenapehoking, I think?).

Specifically this difference is important because like, the House is a imperial colonizing force here, and they are naming things after their home system as a part of the imperial violence they are enacting. In As Yet Unsent, Judith notes that the non-house people call New Rho, "Lemuria" -- HOWEVER, in NtN chapter 17, the Angel mentions Lemuria twice in a way that is phrased like Lemuria is Somewhere else, and is Not the city they are in right now ("I was born on Lemuria", "there's still a facility on Lemuria") I am not sure what happened there, honestly. Perhaps an oopsie?

Where does the Empire want non house humanity to end up?

Unclear. Coronabeth notes in As Yet Unsent that even she (who has studied the war in-universe) has no idea what the real goal is. My guess is nowhere, because a forever-war has no end goal. It's a war for resources gained only by literal blood and death. Many analysis could be made about this as an allegory to to oil based forever-wars of today -- I read a few of them and as said before unfortunately failed to tag them, so if anyone has a link and can share with anon that would be awesome! But anyway, I do not think I am smart or learned enough to say a lot beyond this but, yeah. I think there is no end goal to the war besides meaningless revenge and the resources gained via murder, because that's the point. We could learn different in AtN tho! who knows

How many settled planets?

No idea! Thousands. Hundreds of thousands? Hundreds? Unsure! 10k years is a long time, and there are a lot of planets out there in the fantasy universe that could be habitable. EDIT ty @eskildit, unclear how many planets were settled over the course of the Empire, but there are three settled planets by the timeline of NtN: ""Everyone was crammed on one of three planets now, and they all agreed that this planet was easily the worst", from chapter 2

Thanks for sending this!! I really enjoyed answering it, and I hope it helped -- sorry if I missed any. Ask more any time!!

#new rho #nona the ninth #HOPE I DIDNT MISS ANYTHING #TLT META #the locked tomb #this took like 2 hours BUT i was smart and typed it in a google doc so i didn't have #a situation where i misclicked and lost it all. i have LEARNED #tlt thoughts #anon #ask #long post #yayyy

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Text

“ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ꜰɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ.” | ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴘʜᴇᴜꜱ

Lord Morpheus x Deity!Reader (Goddess of Nature and Music)

summary: After being killed by Roderick Burgess during her attempts to free her husband, YN returns to Morpheus shortly after he himself reincarnated (kind of pt. 2 to »this one«)

word count: 5k oooops…?

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of the Afterlife, reincarnation, angst, but super fluff, like, seriously, this is a fluffy cloud of cotton candy, Death, Lucienne, Mervyn, and Matthew as trusty wing people

author’s note: This idea is presented to you by a comment written by @writing-fanics under my first ever Morpheus work: “we meet him again but when he’s reincarnated as Daniel Hall 👉👈 that’s my headcannon to make me happy after reading this the third time”. I could not not write this one out after I succeeded in breaking my own heart with the first fanfic for my baby 🥺 We imagine that Morpheus looks the same and has kept every memory after his reincarnation, but they have to be triggered, thank you, bye

Disclaimer: I have never read the comics (yet), and I’m still watching season one, so this is just my take on it. Please, don’t come for my head, would be much appreciated 👉🏻👈🏻 But I deliberately changed the happenings of episode 1 in order to let my baby have his vengeance. So, that’s on purpose!

;

“Okay, scenario time,” Matthew’s voice reverberated through the soothingly lit library in the Dreaming and called Lucienne and Mervyn to attention. The librarian peeked expectantly over her round glasses while Merv turned away from the stack of books to eye the flying raven cautiously. Recently, the bird had acted weirdly every time he had returned from the Waking World, and every time it had gotten more and more concerning. “What is it this time, Matthew? The beheaded ghost of Anne Boleyn?” Lucienne exchanged glances with the pumpkin head, suppressing a barely noticeable grin before cocking both eyebrows at the black bird.

Matthew groaned—he wished he hadn’t spoken a word about that incident—but flapped his wings to detangle the ends of his feathers. He still wasn’t used to those either. “Very funny,” he seethed and tickled a rumbling chuckle out of the pumpkin’s mouth. Sometimes he wished he would’ve landed in hell instead of the presence of these two buttheads who never faltered to tease him. “Anyway,” the raven continued with a warning glare out of his black eyes, “Back to my totally hypothetical scenario. Is rebirth a thing? I’m still new to this stuff. Hadn’t had the time to read through every book.” To be quite honest, Matthew hadn’t touched a single book in here, not even those which Lucienne had put on a stack on one of the tables, just for him. He hadn’t been a big reader back in his days; he should be damned if he would start with it now.

Lost in his thoughts, Matthew didn’t realize the awful silence settling over the duo in front of him. Confused, he looked from one to the other. “What have I said or done now?!” Lucienne was the first to speak up. “Why are you asking, Matthew?” Her voice was laced with earnestness, and the raven stepped from one talon to the other. “No reason?” He didn’t sound convincing, even he heard that. “Matthew,” the librarian spoke in one of her warning tones, and the bird knew he couldn’t joke around anymore. “Fine! There is this teeny-tiny portrait Morpheus is carrying around with him. Like, all the damn time. And over which he is so protective, I wasn’t allowed to take a look or even ask him who that is. But…” Again, he stepped from one toe to the other before jumping from the stack of books he had landed on. “But?” Now even Mervyn urged him with the same unnerving tone Lucienne owned. “But a few weeks ago, he forgot to put it back in his pocket, and it lay open on one of the steps. So, yeah, I took a glance. Don’t give me that look, you two would have done the same!” Lucienne stood from her chair and moved closer to him. “Stop weaseling around the point, Matthew!”

The librarian knew whose features were depicted in the locket the lord carried around ever since Lucienne had handed it over to him. The thought alone of Lord Morpheus’ still lingering pain—even though he couldn’t put it to the proper memories connected to this feeling—made her heart ache as well—especially because she had known her as closely as one could know the former Queen of the Dreaming. They had considered each other dear friends, sharing the same passion for the written word and wisdom.

“Good lord, let me take a breather! Why are you so eager all of a sudden? Sheesh.” Her patience with this creature was almost depleted, and she would have loved to just shake a bit of sense into him. Instead, the librarian was content with using threatening words. “If you are not willing to tell me right in this instance what this nonsense is about, I will shake some sense into your feathery body!” Matthew stared up at her and took a small step back, putting some distance between them, but maneuvered him closer to Mervyn, who definitely wouldn’t help him if Lucienne decided to strangle the life out of him. “Okay, Okay! I’m sure I saw her wandering around in the Waking World! Happy?”

The bomb blew up and silence once more settled over the library. Lucienne continued to stare down at the raven, face unmoving and lacking any expression, while Mervyn plopped down onto one of the chairs standing next to the long wooden table. Matthew glanced from one to the other. “Why? Who is she? Someone important? Like his queen?” A chuckle escaped him at the thought of Morpheus being married and having a loving wife somewhere hidden in this palace. But at the sight of hurt and grief on the pumpkin’s face, even the cheeky raven grew quiet.

“She was his queen, yes,” Mervyn mumbled, leaning back in the chair. “She is his queen,” Lucienne corrected him, not having accepted the cruel fate her friend had endured. Merv sighed long and deep. “Her name was YN, and she was the only being he had ever wanted.” Matthew perked up. “YN as in YN, the Goddess of Nature and Music and all that?” Both nodded simultaneously. “She was killed by the same man who had captured our lord. And you are sure you saw her? Not some mortal only resembling her?” The raven nodded without a second thought after digesting the new information and the even more depressing backstory of his boss. “I’m pretty sure. She looked… lost. And I’m sure she saw me. Not only the raven but me.” And that had unsettled him so much that he had fled every time she had found him again. Yet, Matthew always returned to keep an eye on her, unable to stay away from her because somewhere deep down, he knew she was somehow different.

Lucienne exchanged glances with Mervyn. “Is it possible then?” The pumpkin head asked the librarian without hesitation, and she nodded equally as fast. “Reincarnation? Yes. Resurrection? Possibly? Death is the expert on the latter.”

And as if she had only waited for the perfect moment, Death of the Endless appeared in the middle of the library, displeasure evident on her face.

“Who of you found it screamingly funny to mingle with a soul?”

Now it was Matthew and Mervyn who exchanged glances before turning their eyes to Lucienne. “Seems likely possible,” the raven announced before the trio moved to look to the Endless, still waiting for an answer, arms crossed in front of her chest.

;

“Why the sudden need to visit the Waking World?” Morpheus’ soft voice asked Death, an edge of curiosity to it nonetheless, blue eyes resting on the passing people who didn’t heed the Endless’ existence nor presence entirely. His sister hummed shortly, but no word left her mouth—for now. Minutes passed by just like humans passed by. They stood on this spot on the street silently, right opposite a flourishing park, facing the lush green grass, the flower bushes, the high, looming, almost ancient trees.

“Death,” he warned lowly, not feeling pleased by this game she seemed to play with him. Impatience spread in his body, letting him experience the usual unresting feeling crushing into his muscles and bones, urging him to do anything. He had learned to despise this feeling. “The locket you carry.” Her sudden turn to face him surprised even him, and a black brow arched over his eye. “What about it?” He felt rather protective over the little piece Lucienne had handed him over, and he remembered the memory rising at the gesture vividly. The agony connected to it was something he had never experienced before. But instead of fading over time, it had manifested as a brick in his soul and heart; unwavering and unstoppable as soon as it once had taken hold of him.

Death observed him closely, witnessing the change in his eyes and the emotions dancing over his face. She was sure the memories were somewhere buried in his soul, and they only had to trigger them. It surprised her he didn’t unlock any of them at the first sight of her face after Lucienne had given him the small portrait right after he was reincarnated.

“You do know who she is, do you, brother?” Morpheus furrowed his forehead in concentration, trying to understand the meaning behind this—but a conclusion was nowhere to be seen. Death seemingly caught up to his train of thought because she slowly pointed in the direction of the blooming park opposite of them without letting him out of her sight. “I hope this will answer everything,” she mumbled, watching Morpheus as he slowly turned his head to watch the greenery and people passing. It was nothing out of the ordinary to see.

Not until she stepped out of the shadow of a willow tree into the beaming sunlight.

She strolled through the grass seemingly without a care in the world, face held upwards in the direction of the warming sun, eyes closed. He somehow knew that they were of an ever-changing color, always capturing him, even after eons of being his companion as soon as he had stepped into a room she had occupied, following him with an expression he only could describe as never-ending and undying love.

Morpheus could feel how his heart ached bitterly and agonizingly at the sight of her.

He watched her fingertips dance over flowers in full bloom, tickling an even brighter color out of their petals which stretched desperately in the direction of her life-gifting touch, craving her attention, constantly repositioning to her, as if she was the compass they had searched for decades without success. As if she was the sun to the sunflower in them. But not only the flowers reacted to her; even the grass seemed more green and lush in its color.

Morpheus wasn’t able to take his eyes off her—neither physically nor mentally. Not with the deeply felt emotions crashing against the high walls around his mind like a strong and wild tide, resembling her being. She might look like the damsel in distress, but all of a sudden, the Lord of Dreams knew with shocking clarity that she was anything but the damsel in desperate need of an assisting hand. And not just that.

He knew her.

A change within him followed this realization.

He felt the moment in which every single memory returned to his soul unscathed. Morpheus could flick through them like the pages of a book, and every picture was as clear as the sky of the Waking World above his head. He could remember their wedding vividly—remembered her smile as radiant as the stars above them while they promised to protect, cherish, and love one another.

Forever.

Whatever might lay ahead of them on their path through the centuries and eons.

Both brows softly rose over the pair of eyes, always lacking something in their depths which they held once without any doubt. The spark was there again, though—Death could see it clearly, could even feel it. The stars inside the blue seas attempted to return, but the hesitation of the Endless still too powerful to let them have their way.

Morpheus watched the woman, the goddess, his wife, with growing desperation from afar, feeling agitated. His only desire was to cross the street, to put the humans in his line of sight and Death behind him, wanted to pull her into his arms after he had stopped right in front of her. He wanted to see her face, to hear her voice, to feel her soft touch which had always reminded him of water gliding over stone, of a breeze caressing through the tall-growing grass and wheat in the Dreaming, of raindrops stealing daringly kisses and touches of petals and leaves.

He wanted everything from her she once had given him without so much as a fleeting thought.

Unbeknownst to himself, the King of the Dreaming and Lord of Dreams had taken a step closer to his very own dream, not paying any attention to his sister in his back or the raven that had landed on a branch next to the goddess. His black eye observed his boss looking dumbfounded over at the woman who resembled the most beautiful blooming flower ever seen by mortals and otherworldly beings.

And though she was above the Waking World, once a ruler of the Dreaming itself, she slowly sank down in front of a little girl, a tender expression settling on her face. The girl held a dying flower in her open palms; the stem snapped off the remaining plant and looked equally as crushed as the petals. Matthew smiled—as good as possible as a bird—at the picture of her softly raising her hand and returning the flower to its once beautiful existence, making the girl giggle and smile widely. YN smiled back—Morpheus felt as if his heart missed several beats at once—before resting a finger against her lips, and the girl nodded in understanding before rushing over to her mother, showing her newest possession proudly.

She raised back to her feet, and without a glance over her shoulder, she spoke up. “You can come out, raven, whose name I still do not know.” Matthew felt exposed but followed her words and landed softly on her shoulder. “Goddess,” he mumbled, and YN chuckled gently. “Ah, I see. And there I was, wondering why you did not leave just yet. Someone told you, I suppose?” He was able to take a glimpse of her eyes, and the raven would have to lie if he told the world they weren’t as mesmerizing as Lucienne had described them to him. Nodding, the raven made himself a bit more comfortable on her shoulder—if he had to choose, he would take her shoulder over his boss’s every time. He hoped no one would ever find out about that. A heavy sigh left her parted lips. “Then you surely must know that I am of no use anymore.”

Ever since she had awoken in the Waking World, YN had tried to find a way back into the Dreaming, back home. Before her—obviously not definitively—death, she had had the powers to come and go as she had pleased, but now, all there was left was silence and coldness. She couldn’t even feel the Dreaming anymore, which only let appear one conclusion in the front of her mind, and she didn’t dare to think about it further. In the first hours and days of her awakening, she had cried enough tears to form an entirely new river—unpurposely, of course.

Matthew cocked his head and tried to stare into her eyes. “No use?! What are you talking about? I call bullshit.” YN now herself cocked her head, mirroring the raven on her shoulder what he didn’t like, but was humored nonetheless. “So, you are a funny one. That did not happen in a very long time. Usually, ravens tend to be so earnest.” The raven had to chuckle at that. “I’m unique. But stop honey-ing me, missy! Care to enlighten me why you think you are useless?”

Now, every lightness was gone from her face, eyes, and body language. He could feel her muscles tense under his talons. “I cannot return. I cannot return to the Dreaming, not even after offering my powers. I cannot feel it.” I cannot feel my home, she thought to herself before continuing. “And if I cannot feel the Dreaming, the only possible reason is…” YN couldn’t speak it out loud but had to, so she took a breath. “The only reason is that he is dead. And without him, I cannot return home.” I do not wish to return home. Because what was a never-ending existence without the one she loved more than every flower, leaf, and music tune?

Matthew raised his head slowly, looking from the profile of her breathtakingly face over to his boss, still standing there like a damn tree growing roots. He saw how Death softly nudged him in their direction, and if he had a saying in this, he would’ve shoved him like there would be no tomorrow. Instead, he himself gently nudged her jaw to make YN turn her head. “But what if he is still here?” Matthew asked at the exact moment her eyes had found the man of her dreams.

And suddenly, everything stopped. There was no movement, no breathing life, no growing life. Only stasis. Except for them. In a very long time, YN hadn’t felt this much alive, not even in the wake of her awakening a handful of months back.

Morpheus could see the movement of her lips, letting no sound escape them—the sight of it brought him back to the memory of her last breath he had been damned to only observe instead of trying to save her. But other than a century before, she didn’t lose the spark of life in her eyes, didn’t go limp, didn’t show any signs of injuries or blood consuming the fabric of her clothes before it dripped onto the grass beneath her feet.

No, she was the epitome of life, and her light fueled him with something he hadn’t felt in a very long time: Hope. Happiness. Love. And he should be damned if he didn’t get to her only because he feared that this was his very own nightmare which he had conjured himself to torture his already tortured soul. He couldn’t lose her a second time. He wouldn’t lose her a second time.

With slow steps, even though he ached to stride over to her as fast as possible, he put the grey world behind him and stepped into the green paradise he yearned to have back in his life, in the Dreaming. His realm wasn’t itself, not without its queen. The soothing calm wrapped itself around him and his mind, caressing him softly with every step he took. It resembled her touch, but he knew that her skin against his was something even more glorious and ethereal. Something divine beyond comprehension.

None of them broke the contact of their gazes; they revolved around one another like planets in the grand universe, interdependent, as if one was the source of gravity of the other. Morpheus wasn’t sure if he should reach for her, if he should let his fingertips glide up her bare arm. But she took the burden of said decision upon herself as YN reached out for him, desperation and fear written all over her beautiful face, crystal tears burning in her eyes which just changed their color from the light blue of a summer sky to the evergreen of a dark forest. He felt as if his heart stopped beating entirely the moment the tips of her fingers were able to reach the back of his hand.

Both sucked a deep breath into their lungs, and while YN’s lips softly parted in utter surprise, Morpheus’ steps faltered. Inches still separated the couple, but he slowly turned his hand under her fingertips, moving it to let his palm face upwards, to feel her touch there because he suddenly remembered particular scenes throughout their existence. He was faced with the feeling of tender touches and the feeling of home; her fingertips following and drawing the lines on his palm, always while they lay together in their shared bed during the early morning hours, before she would press a feathery kiss to it and laid his hand atop her cheek to close her eyes for only a few more minutes. He felt the adoration swirling through him, knew that he had craved those moments every morning—even after centuries, after eons of their loving routine.

And even now, after everything that had happened to both of them, Morpheus felt his heart jumping in his chest as YN let her fingers glide over the upwards-facing palm. He watched her as closely as she watched him, her touch moving over the tender skin of his wrist before they lost contact again due to the fabric parting her touches from him. The woman in front of him took a last step in the same heartbeat as he took his last step toward her, not holding back anymore.

His hands cupped her neck lovingly, his long, elegant fingers reaching to the back of her head, his thumbs tenderly brushing over the line of her jaw. In the same instance, YN had buried the fingers of her left hand into the fabric of his black coat while her right hand cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb caressing the skin above his cheekbone. Their gazes were still connected, diving into the deep seas, yearning for every emotion swimming in those dark pools.

“Morpheus.”

Her unbelieving whisper of his name—as if it was a prayer—was his downfall. Without wasting another second, another breath, another heartbeat, the Lord of Dreams bent his head and eyes closed at the mere anticipation before their lips collided in softness and loving movements. The desperation and urgency needed to wait for a different moment in the confinements of their private rooms in the Dreaming. Their passion had never been secondary, they had always heavily indulged in it, even if the timing was anything except perfect, but now, neither of them could think about something more important as the realization that this wasn’t another dream—or nightmare—that this was reality instead.

The reassurance of this fact in the form of tender kisses they shared without stopping to take a deep breath was more than enough. But even they had to part at some point—foreheads softly pressed against one another, fingers tangled in silky strands, chests fitting perfectly together, eyes still closed, savoring this existence-altering moment.

“I thought…—” YN’s voice was quiet, breathless, filled with fear and agony. She didn’t need to complete the sentence because he figured what she was trying to say. So all he did first was move his head to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I am here,” he whispered against her skin, feeling her body relax under his hands. He would never leave her again or let her leave, even if he had to fight every single creature the world had to offer. “I… I am…” YN’s mumbling almost got lost between the shake of her voice and Morpheus wrapped his arms around her, pressed a hand to the small of her back while the other buried itself in her long curls, pulling her closer to his chest, enveloping his wife in the most protective hug. “Do not apologize. There is nothing to apologize for, love. I am just glad I have gotten you back, gotten another chance to spend eternity with you. I am beyond grateful to finally have you in my arms again where you belong, my dream.” His whispering was as tender as the leaves around them, and YN felt her heart flutter like an excited bird shortly before it rose into the sky at the sound of the endearment reserved explicitly for her.

YN let her eyes fall shut, savoring the long-missed and lost feeling of his incredibly soft lips, remembering the Afterlife filled with the same sensation but different all at once. It had been insipid; a weak, dull equivalent to his counterpart in reality, and she had missed him there even more fiercely as if it would have been the case if the Afterlife hadn’t been so cruel to her soul.

Her fingers tenderly caressed through his night black strands, hearing and feeling him sigh in utter contentment. “Morpheus,” she whispered his name again, this time with her lips almost at his—already touching them with every syllable of his name. “I told you I would find you.” The corner of her mouth slowly raised at his deep but quiet chuckle, feeling his arm wrapping tighter around her, pulling her even closer to him, if that was even possible. Their eyes met again after a short but equally as lovingly, and heartwarming kiss as the ones before, and the Lord of Dreams pushed a curl behind her ear, caressing her cheek with his knuckles. YN looked up to him almost pleadingly, even though they both knew that Morpheus could never refuse anything his wife asked of him.

“Bring me home.”

;

Morpheus had his eyes closed, breathing slowly, while every sensation was heightened, beginning with the familiar heavy feeling of her head lying on his shoulder and ending with the tickling touch of YN’s fingertips following slowly and reverently the lines in his right palm. They lay like this since they returned to the Dreaming, immediately strolling through the palace and into their rooms, ignoring everyone around them, only having eyes and a place in their minds for each other.

They had to wait if they wanted to see their queen again. It was his turn now.

“What happened?”

Her voice was as soft as it usually was but held an edge of curiosity and resentment. Her fingers didn’t stop even as YN turned her head to look up into his face, and the man opened his eyes to watch her, though he felt the memory rising behind his eyes and in the front of his mind, unable to unsee it. And she had a right to know.

His hand, which had rested on her bare shoulder where he had caressed her skin with tender strokes, moved up to her head and started to brush through her hair. It had always soothed him and his mind, and he felt relief flowing through him at the realization that it was still the case. “It took a century before I was able to escape, but… I could not leave without seeking vengeance for what he did. Not to me, but you.” YN was quiet, but her eyes told him she listened intently to his every word. So he continued. “My ruby brought him immortality for the time in his possession, and it was the first thing I took back from him. I watched him starting to wither in his sleep, knowing that his dream had changed with the sensation of something happening to him. I waited until he awoke, waited until he realized it was my doing, and watched with satisfaction the moment he realized his end was coming. I promised him eternal torture and started with it myself.”

Morpheus knew that he had been cruel to this human, but he also knew that he wasn’t as cruel as he should’ve been.

YN stopped caressing his palm, and the Endless watched her face, not moving his gaze, not even as he felt her hand move upwards to cup his jawline. He slowly let his eyes fall shut only at the feeling of her thumb brushing over the skin of his cheek, leaning his face into the touch he had longed for over a century. “I really thought I could save you, my love,” she whispered and leaned her forehead against the other side of his face, nuzzling her nose against the skin of his neck. Morpheus pressed a loving kiss to her hairline. “I know, my dream.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking up again—pain audible in his voice. “Do not dare and try it again. Will you promise me that? I cannot watch you die right in front of me again. I would not survive it.”

His queen softly pushed herself up with a hand resting on his chest, right above his strong beating heart. Her eyes—morphing from an emerald green to the shades of the morning sky after the night retreated—watched him with the softest expression while she nodded, barely visible. “Will you promise me not to find yourself in situations and positions which require my unintentional sacrifice again?” A smile started to tuck at the corner of his lips, and YN gently chuckled at the sight of it. “I will promise you that, my Queen,” Morpheus smiled nonetheless up at her, covering the hand still resting over his heart with his own.

He looked down at the missing feeling of something pressing against his palm. YN seemed to notice his changing expression and looked at her bare ring finger as well. “I woke up without it,” she whispered, sadness etched into her tone at the memory of the missing ring her husband had given her. It had been the most beautiful ring ever made, decorated with two beautiful gemstones—a dark blue sapphire, reminding her of his eyes, and the other the darkest emerald ever seen because it had been the color of her eyes at their first encounter. YN didn’t know where it vanished.

He got a hold of her bare hand and pressed her fingertips onto his lips to pepper gentle kisses on them. “I will make you a new one,” he vowed with the soft tone reserved entirely for her ears.

But he didn’t need to because only a moment after the words had left his mouth, a knock interrupted their peace and tranquillity. YN was quick on her feet and crossed the grand room to open the door, facing a wide-eyed Lucienne. “My Queen,” she bowed her head, but both women searched for their hands, and YN gently squeezed her friend’s fingers. “Lucienne,” she smiled, and the librarian couldn’t contain her smile as well. “I apologize for the intrusion, but Death found something I suspect you missed.” And with that, she opened her other hand in which laid, atop a velvet piece of fabric, her missing ring. “Where…?” Her friend only shrugged gently. “She didn’t tell us.” Nodding, YN took the ring and pressed it against her chest. “Thank you, Lucienne.” Her voice was laced with joy and longing, and the librarian bowed again. “I will leave you, but don’t hesitate to visit the library. The books miss you dearly.” With that, Lucienne turned and left, and the woman closed the door again and walked back to the bed with Morpheus still atop the covers.

She opened her hand after settling back on the mattress next to him, letting him see the ring resting on her palm, and the Lord of Dreams smiled down at it. He took the delicate jewelry between his fingers and slowly pushed it back into its place, back home on her finger, so everyone could see to whom she belonged—though nobody in the Dreaming needed a reminder of that.

“Welcome home,” Morpheus mumbled, lips against lips, and enveloped his wife once again in his loving embrace to hold her as close as possible, not thinking about letting her leave his arms anytime soon.

;

Okay, so, I hate the end, but I’m really bad at writing endings naturally, so we have to deal with this one. Hope y’all enjoyed it tho :3 As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated! <3

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shcherbatskya · 1 year

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samael... did u see the rocks...

i DID!!!! they are sooo cool actjally. the calcite especially like it is soooo blue you would not think it came from a volcano??? ALSO i would be sooo overwhelmed thinking that those rocks had been around since like. 200 ish ad. i would go crazyyyy if i saw them in real life <3 ty ty for sharing ❣️

#samael speaks #angel radio #merv <3

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writethrough · 1 year

Text

The Accident That Led Me to You (Part II)

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You and Morpheus finally go on that date.

Warnings: Feelings of unworthiness, fluff, mutual pining, Death and Lucienne being the ultimate wing-women

Word Count: 2542

A/N: Here it is! Part two! Grammarly decided to be a bitch today and not help me edit. Also, I don't know why I'm doing this to myself, but what about part three?

Read Part I

If the emissary and janitor of the Dreaming had gotten wages, neither would’ve been happy. A month had passed since that day in the library. You and Morpheus were still making cow eyes at each other, Matthew and Merv kept renewing their bet, and Lucienne had enough of you four. Death, on the other hand, was greatly amused by both of you.

You were a close friend to her now. Despite her compassion and kindness, she didn’t have many. She practically jumped at the opportunity your strange circumstance put you in. Not that either of you minded.

Though Death was busy frequently, she always made time to see you. Now, curled up on your couch with wine, you couldn’t help the giggles as she told you a story about a younger Morpheus.

“It’s true! He doubted me, and I had to prove him wrong!” She said it like it was the obvious thing to do.

“But did you have to steal the horse?” You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh.

She shrugged. “I had to make an entrance.”

You both erupted into more giggles.

You could only imagine the look on Morpheus’ face when all of this happened. Did his lips tug into a smirk? Were his eyes alight with amusement at his sister’s antics?

It wasn’t until Death spoke that you realized you’d gone quiet.

“So…” she drawled, giving you an expectant look. “How are you and my dear brother?”

You groaned, knowing exactly where she was going with this.

“We’re fine,” you said, taking a big gulp.

“Just fine?”

You nodded, avoiding her gaze.

“You looked cozy when I dropped by the other night,” she said.

She had arrived in the Dreaming a few nights ago to talk to Morpheus. When she didn’t find him in his throne room, she searched and discovered you and him in the library. Lucienne was off somewhere while you were shoulder-to-shoulder over a book. Death would’ve made herself scarce if Morpheus hadn’t caught movement out of his periphery. Later, when she questioned her brother about it, he said nothing was happening between you two.

“Come on, (Y/N)! When are you going to ask him out?” she whined, gripping your wrist.

“Why would I ask him out?” You pretended to be clueless.

“Because you like him!” she said, exasperated. “And he likes you.”

“Has he told you that?” You weren’t expecting her to answer.

“He literally doesn’t stop asking about you,” she said.

“Oh.” You paused. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

She pinched the bridge on her nose. “You are both going to be the death of me.”

You snorted and couldn’t help bursting into laughter, and she soon joined you.

—

No matter how long Morpheus stood in front of his soon-to-be creations, he couldn’t seem to finish them.

Half-formed shapes and featureless bodies could not focus him. Instead, he thought of you.

What were you doing at this moment? Did you start a new book, or were you still stuck on the previous one? Were you having a good day? When would you go to sleep so he could see you? Should he visit you before you go to bed so he could see you sooner—

“My lord?” Lucienne broke him from his thoughts.

“Yes, Lucienne?” He continued to face his would-be dreams, intent to appear as if he were busy.

“Are you alright, my lord?” she asked tentatively. “You seem distracted.”

Of course, his librarian could read him like a…well, like an open book.

“There’s no need to concern yourself. I am alright.”

There was a moment of silence. Morpheus could feel Lucienne wanting to speak.

“Is there anything else, Lucienne?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “If I may…you and (Y/N), you’ve gotten quite close.”

“I suppose,” he said, smearing a wave of hair onto one creation to distract himself.

“And you enjoy her company—greatly,” she added.

“Yes.” His reply was a bit drawn out as if he didn’t know where the librarian was going.

“It’s just…I believe she’d be happy if you were to tell her. And…”

Morpheus now fully faced her. “And?”

“And perhaps you should both stop mooning over one another and do something about it,” she said, letting a breath of her exasperation slip through.

Morpheus, shocked at her outburst, could only think of one thing to say.

“I’m not mooning over (Y/N).” His cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

“My lord.” It amazed him how Lucienne could twist his title, like she said, “We both know you’re lying.”

The look in her eyes made him divulge his hesitance.

“How could something possibly come from us? It…It could not last.” He let his gaze linger over her shoulder, recalling why they had been able to meet in the first place.

Lucienne gave him an understanding smile and took a step forward. “We both know there is no such thing as an ending. Only new beginnings. Perhaps this is one the both of you must start together.”

Her words sunk into his bones. Death had never been final—it did not signify extinguishment. It was simply a transition. One which (Y/N) somehow avoided before meeting him. But maybe that transition was taking on another form—one that could begin with a simple question.

—

You and Morpheus had just left Cain, Abel, and Goldie. The young gargoyle was rapidly growing and was ever the playful creature. Though, she tired fast, too. Goldie spent most of her time curled up on your lap, sleeping.

“Abel grows more worried each time you visit,” Morpheus said as you walked back to his castle.

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean? Why would he be worried?”

“He fears Goldie will want you instead of him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please, she loves him and Cain too much to ever leave.” You squeezed his arm slightly. “And besides, I can’t take care of a growing gargoyle part-time. I’d need to move in if that were the case.”

“That can be arranged.”

You stopped, your hand on his arm halting him as well.

“You’d let me live here?” You both got along well, but would he really want you invading his space?

“If you wished, yes,” he said, earnestness in his eyes.

“Would that even be allowed? How would that even work?” You were mortal. And alive. You knew Matthew had been a human, and Cain and Abel were invited by Morpheus to stay here, but all of them were technically dead.

“I am the ruler of this realm, (Y/N). Of course, it’s allowed.”

“But wouldn’t I have to die?” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit worried.

He chuckled. “No, I would never suggest it if that were the case. And you’d be free to come and go as you please. I would not keep you from your life.”

“Oh.” You sighed, relaxing. “That’s reassuring. The not dying thing. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.”

“Good.” He gave you a gentle smile.

You stood there, taking each other in.

His eyes never left you. Usually, you’d shrink away if someone paid this much attention to you, but Morpheus always made you comfortable. It was uncanny how connected you felt to him, and sometimes it scared you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of something more. Maybe Death was right. Maybe her brother did have a soft spot for you.

You hadn’t noticed you had returned his smile, and it was the way he glanced down at your lips that had you speaking before you could think.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?”

—

A few days later, you sat with Lucienne, trying to figure out what a date with an Endless should look like.

“Whatever you plan, he will enjoy,” Lucienne reassured you.

“But how will I even know he’s enjoying it?” You sighed, exasperated. “It’s not like his face will show it! Honestly, it’d be easier to read Moby Dick in Mandarin.”

“I’m afraid the closest you’ll get is reading it in Chinese,” she said without looking up at you.

You brushed her comment off with a wave of your hand.

“You know what I mean.”

She set her pencil down. “Yes, I do. And I also know his lordship. He would not have agreed to a date with you if he wasn’t completely interested. You could take him to watch paint dry, and he’d be happy.”

You considered what she said. It was true—Morpheus had no issue denying someone. He also seemed…content when you were around. After all, he was the one to approach you after you ran away from him and his sister.

“It’s just…I want him to have the best time. He’s this powerful entity who’s had all these experiences. What am I going to do that could ever keep his interest?” How could you ever compare to him?

“(Y/N),” she said, gaining your attention. “You keep his interest. All you have to do is share the same space, and he’s entranced. Not to be rude, but it’s why nothing ever gets done anymore. His lordship’s nearly useless when you’re around.”

“...I’m sorry?” you said, uncertain if she wanted an apology.

“There’s no need. I’m hoping once you’re in a relationship, everything will be in order again.”

“A relationship?” Would Morpheus want to take things that seriously that quickly?

“(Y/N),” she gave you an “are you serious” look, “he’s—oh, what’s the colloquialism—he’s whipped.”

—

Your biggest concern about your date tonight wasn’t if Morpheus would show up or not—no, he would never stand you up—it was if he’d like what you had planned. What kind of first date would an immortal being enjoy? Dinner and a movie seemed too simple. A museum had sounded intimate initially, but frankly, you weren’t interested in looking at anything other than him. You landed on an evening at the local fair.

It was during a weeknight, so it wasn’t that crowded. And you could snack on fair food as you walked around and talked. There were benches scattered around the grounds. And in an hour, music would play at the stadium near the back.

You told him to meet you at the front gate. You had to force yourself not to play with the beginnings of a hangnail as you scanned the incoming people. He had a few minutes before he’d be late, but he was a king. He had better things to do than go on a silly little date with y—

“(Y/N).”

You turned, and there he stood. The first thing you noticed was his smile. Though small, it was gentle, and his eyes were bright. He seemed lighter somehow.

His gaze slid down your form, and heat settled in your cheeks when he looked up again.

“You look beautiful,” he said, and if he couldn’t tell you were already blushing, he could once he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered, then cleared your throat. “Shall we?”

He nodded, still giving you that look, and held out his arm.

Once inside, you pulled him to your favorite hot cider stand.

Walking around the various vendors, you pointed out different spots you had tried and reminisced about your family and friends.

“The look on his face when she proposed was priceless,” you said, gesturing to a bench in front of a stack of hay bales. “Then he pulled out the ring he got for her as his answer.”

“They are fortunate to have found one another,” he said. “Not many can say they’ve found their love.”

“No, they can't.” You led him to the bench, needing to rest your feet for a moment. After brushing the hay off the seat, you sat shoulder to shoulder, the band starting up.

“It’s a common dream—and nightmare,” Morpheus said. Then, after a pause. “Tell me, what is your dream?”

You opened your mouth, not sure where to begin.

“I…well, after what happened, I want to try everything,” you said. “I want to travel, and explore, and…and find love.” You breathed out a laugh. “I guess my dream is to just…live.”

The look he gave you was one you couldn’t decipher. He was focused, maybe searching, trying to figure out a puzzle you weren’t aware had something to do with you.

Then, his features relaxed. “If I can help you achieve those dreams. I will.”

You blinked. There was no sign of a lie or uncertainty. He wanted to see you succeed. And before you could say or do something to embarrass yourself, you returned his question.

“What about you? What’s your dream?”

His brow furrowed as he considered your words.

“I…I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that.”

“Really?” He was the embodiment of dreams—surely someone had wanted to know what the Dream Lord wished for.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ve had dreams, but now…I haven’t thought about them in ages.”

You hummed. “We can help each other then. If there’s anyone who deserves to accomplish their dreams, it’s you.”

His eyes grew wide. And just because it was so rare to see him surprised, you continued.

“I’ll be your own personal Queen of Dreams,” you teased, wiggling your fingers as if casting a spell.

He chuckled. “I quite like the sound of that.”

“Good.” You then realized a slow song was coming from the stadium, and an idea popped up. Before you lost your nerve, you stood, holding out a hand to him.

“Dance with me?” You smiled when he placed his hand in yours without a second thought.

His hands rested on your waist, and he pulled you close.

Your arms wound on his shoulders as you swayed, not noticing the glances and small smiles thrown your way.

Morpheus’ thumb grazed your side softly, a breath of a touch.

“Thank you. For tonight,” he said, eyes boring into yours.

You tilted your head. “Does that mean you enjoyed yourself?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I always enjoy it when we’re together.”

Heat pooled into your cheeks as you let out a nervous chuckle and looked down.

He returned your gaze to him with a hooked finger under your chin.

“I believe this is when I request your company for our next date. Or am I mistaken?” The slight narrowing of his eyes suggested he was trying to remember.

“I don’t think the social rules apply to us,” you said. “And I would love to.”

His smile made your stomach all fuzzy.

“Tomorrow?” he asked, hopeful.

His tone emboldened you to answer with a kiss on his cheek.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

Morpheus was in his throne room, preparing for your next date when Death arrived. She strolled in, whistling.

“So, when can I expect a wedding invitation?” Death teased.

Morpheus shook his head slightly with a small smile and played into her. “I already asked her to move in with me, unintentionally.”

Death laughed. “Your first date, and you already want to cohabitate.”

“It was before.” His reply was somewhat hesitant, knowing his sister would enjoy that information a little too much.

She clutched her side, still giggling. “Oh, little brother, you’ve got it bad.”

#the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman x reader #the sandman fluff #the sandman netflix #morpheus fluff #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus x y/n #dream of the endless #dream x reader #dream x you

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parkerslatte · 1 year

Text

Songbird || SIX

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.8k

Part Summary: Billy comes back from rehab and Y/N and Eddie end up lonely at a party.

previous chapter / next chapter

Series Mastlist

Main Masterlist

•••

TRACK SIX;

SLEEPING WITH A FRIEND

…

Y/N L/N: When Billy went to rehab and the tour was cancelled, everyone else came home. And tensions were high.

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Y/N still wasn’t speaking to me, she wasn’t really speaking to anyone.

Y/N L/N: Around the time they came back, I was constantly at meetings with Teddy, I barely saw them in the first couple weeks.

…

“Was that one good?” Y/N asked.

Teddy chuckled, “The one before was perfect.”

Y/N smiled, “I just want it to be perfect.”

“And it already is,” Teddy says, “Want to have a listen?”

Y/N sat next to Teddy as she listened to her song back. Everything felt so surreal to her, she felt like she would wake up at any second and she had imagined all of it.

“It sounds great!” Y/N says, excitement coursing through her veins.

Teddy smiled at the girl’s excitement, knowing how much this meant to her.

“If everything goes well, you might be hearing it on the radio soon.” Teddy commented.

“Shut up!” Y/N says.

“No, I’m serious.” Teddy says.

…

TEDDY PRICE (1982, Merv Griffin Show): I’d never produced anyone like Y/N. She was always so easy going and easy to work with, she knew what she wanted and we worked with that. Her music had a unique sound, whenever a Y/N L/N song comes on the radio, you know it’s a Y/N L/N song.

…

As Y/N got home she was elated and nothing could put a damper on her mood. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen everyone could tell that Y/N had had a good day.

“How did the recording with Teddy go?” Graham asked.

“Fucking amazing!” Y/N exclaimed.

Soon enough, everyone went off to do their own thing but Karen approached Y/N wth a bottle of wine in her hand.

“We need to celebrate and catch up.” Karen says.

Y/N grinned

***

“I don’t know how I lived without you on tour,” Karen says, “I needed a break from the boys.”

Y/N laughed, taking a swig of the wine, “I don’t know how you did it either.”

“How’s Camila been?” Karen asked suddenly.

Y/N sighed, “She’s been okay, I know that everything has affected her but she’s not letting it show, all her focus has been on Julia.”

“She’s the sweetest kid I’ve ever seen.” Karen says.

“I know!” Y/N says, “When I have kids eventually, I definitely want a kid as cute as Julia or I don’t want a kid at all.”

Karen laughed, “Kids aren’t on by bucket list but I get what you mean.”

Music played softly throughout Y/N and Karen’s bedroom as they fell into silence, the bottle of wine being passed between the two. Ever since Camila gave birth to Julia, her focus had shifted to her daughter causing her to spend less time with Y/N. Of course Y/N still hung around with Camila and Julia, in fact Y/N could barely stay away. However, right now, Y/N was glad to spend some time with Karen.

The only issue was the days she would spend all day in the studio and come home late and Camila and Julia were asleep or when Y/N wasn’t doing anything, Camila was busy taking care of Julia. The two hadn’t had a chance to sit down and relax and talk about whatever like they used to.

As Karen took another sip of the wine, Eddie appeared in the doorway. Neither Y/N nor Karen noticed him at first as the two continued to laugh about something Karen had said.

“Y/N, can we talk?” Eddie asked, standing in the doorway.

Y/N sat up from her position and stared directly at Eddie, her smile faltering. Karen looked between the two of them and excused herself, not wanting to be caught in the tension, taking the wine with her.

Y/N sighed, “Eddie, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yes there is,” Eddie says, stepping into the room and closing the door, “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

“I have not, I’ve been at work, recording.” Y/N says.

“And the days you aren’t? You spend most of your time with Camila and Julia or with Warren, Karen and Graham, you haven’t spoken to me since I got back.”

“Maybe I just don’t want to, has that crossed your mind?” Y/N questioned.

“Why?” Eddie asked, desperate for an answer.

“You know exactly why Eddie, I know that Camila has forgiven you and everyone else but I saw the way she was when we came back home, she was a mess Eddie,” Y/N says, “And the reason I am so angry with you specifically is because you lied to me when I asked if anything was going on outright and you love Camila and you still let her go through that pain. You don’t even like Billy! There was no reason for you to protect him.”

Eddie remained silent, he didn’t say anything.

“If you don’t have anything else to say Eddie, then please leave.” Y/N says.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Eddie apologises, stepping over to her and sitting down next to her, “I really am, I fucked up and I know I did. I should have told you, I should have told Camila and I regret not doing that.” Eddie paused, “To be honest I just miss talking to you, I miss listening to your songs and stupid lyrics when you can’t figure out the next line. I miss you Y/N and I want us to be okay again.”

Y/N turned to look at Eddie, she missed him as well but the anger she had was a stronger emotion.

“Please,” Eddie pleaded, looking deep into Y/N’s eyes, “I can’t stand it that you’re not talking to me.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, she had never seen Eddie look so desperate, “I will forgive you on one condition, never lie to me again.”

“I won’t, I promise you that.” Eddie says, quickly.

There was a moment of silence before Y/N gave Eddie a small smile, “I forgive you, but you better hold up your side of the promise Roundtree.”

All Eddie did in response was pull Y/N forward and wrapped his arms around her, both of them falling back onto the bed, a comfortable silence between them.

***

A few weeks later, Billy was set to return home and Y/N didn’t know how to feel about it, all she knew was that she needed to remain civil. As Y/N sat at the kitchen table, a book open in front of her while she ate her breakfast in a peaceful silence.

Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, interrupting Y/N from her book. Looking up she made eye contact with Billy. She didn’t smile.

“Y/N,” Billy says in a greeting, “How are you?”

“I’m good.” Y/N answered, closing her book.

“Congratulations on the recording by the way,” Billy says, avoiding eye contact, “Graham told me about it

“Thank you.” Y/N says.

Billy gave Y/N a tight lipped smile before walking away, leaving her on her own once again.

…

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: The label dropped up a week after the tour was cancelled.

WARREN ROJAS: They made us pay back our advance and everything.

GRAHAM DUNNE: I kept us practising as much as I could and got a job at a bodyshop.

WARREN ROJAS: Yeah, I was working down at Malibu Harbor cleaning boats, which I loved, and, uh, and doing a lot of mushrooms, which I also loved,

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Basically we were back where we started, worse even.

INTERVIEWER: Are you still upset about it?

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: Me? Nah. I mean holding onto that shit will be the death of you. But he really fucked us over.

Y/N L/N: With everyone out of the house working, I had a lot more space and time to work on my own music. The living room was empty almost all the time so I designated that room my writing room. [laughs] I’m not sure everyone appreciated all the balls of paper thrown everywhere though.

…

“Who the fuck do you think you are man?” Eddie spat.

Y/N rubbed her brow, looking around the group. Billy standing up in front of the band saying that he was done, Eddie was pissed off, meanwhile Karen, Graham and Warren all tried to diffuse the situation. Y/N watched from the sidelines, not wanting to be involved but somehow the argument started while she was in the middle of writing.

“Look, everybody just calm down, okay?” Graham says.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I can’t be the only one who’s pissed here.” Eddie says.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say, you guys don’t even need me. You have the songs, you got the fan base. I mean, I’m sure if you just-”

“Billy!” Eddie shouted, “If you’re going, go.”

Billy paused for a moment before nodding and walking out of the room, leaving everyone in silence.

“So now what do we do?” Warren asked.

…

KAREN SIRKO: I mean bands fall apart, that’s rock’n’roll. I just…thought this one was different.

…

Everyone dispersed one by one, leaving just Y/N and Eddie in the room.

“Hey,” Y/N says, catching the attention of Eddie, “Everything will work out.”

Eddie looked at Y/N and the look on her face made him believe it.

***

Sighing, Y/N dropped down in a seat next to Warren, immediately ordering another drink.

“Back so soon?” Warren questioned.

“He was so unbelievably sexist it should have been a joke,” Y/N says, taking a large swig of her drink, “First he wouldn’t stop talking about himself leaving me standing there with a fake smile plastered across my face, then when I finally managed to talk about myself and what I do he stated that women are not cut out to be in the music industry and that I should just become a housewife. Fucking dickhead,” Finishing off her drink and immediately ordering another Y/N sighed, “Where are all the good men around here?

“You’re sitting next to one.” Warren says, leaning closer to Y/N.

Y/N chuckled, placing a kiss on his cheek, “Sorry, Warren but the answer is still no.”

“Ah, worth a shot.” Warren says, leaning back in his seat.

“What about him over there?” Warren questioned.

Y/N followed his gaze, “Nah, you can just tell that he’s boring, I mean he’s standing there like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He looks like my old math teacher.”

“You are picky,” Warren joked, “Remember if you just wanna get laid, I’m right here.”

“Keep dreaming,” Y/N says, her eyes scanning over the crowd once again, “He looks nice.”

Warren followed her gaze, “Him? Really? I thought you had standards.”

Y/N scoffed, “I do have standards and he’s quite attractive.

Y/N and Warren continued to watch the man from afar. Just as Y/N stood to go and talk to him his hand raised to his nose as he began to pick it.

“Maybe not,” Y/N says, sitting back down, “Why are men so gross?”

Looking around once more Warren scanned over the crowd, “By the pool? The guy and the girl.”

“They both look too into each other to give me the time of day.” Y/N says.

Taking another sip from her drink, Y/N noticed a girl standing not too far away, eyes set on Warren. Once she notices that Y/N had seen her, she averted her gaze.

“There’s a girl staring at you,” Y/N says.

“Where?” Warren asked, looking around.

Y/N hit his arm, “Don’t make it too obvious.”

“Okay, but where?” Warren questioned.

“Turn around and you can’t miss her, she’s making serious heart eyes at you.” Y/N remarked.

“Wish me luck.” Warren says, standing to his feet.

“You’re the one who doesn’t need luck in this situation.” Y/N says.

Warren blew her a kiss before walking over to the girl. The girl made eye contact with Y/N for a brief moment and Y/N sent the girl a wink before turning away.

Y/N sat alone at the bar from across the room she could see Karen and Graham talking, Graham with a lovestruck expression on his face, causing Y/N to chuckle to herself. She could see Eddie standing not too far away with a girl.

As Y/N looked at Eddie, he looked up making eye contact with her, he sent her a smile, completely ignoring what the girl was saying to him. This caused the girl to scoff and turn around to look at what had caught Eddie’s attention. Once the girl noticed Y/N she scoffed before walking away from Eddie.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh when she walked away, mainly because of the confused expression on his face as he walked up to Y/N.

“You might want to go after her,” Y/N commented, “Some girls don’t like it when you smile at other girls from across the room.”

“It’s fine, it wasn’t going anywhere anyways.” Eddie says, sitting next to Y/N.

“That makes two of us.” Y/N says, “Every guy I’ve spoken to has been sexist, completely self obsessed or just a dickhead. I’m only looking for sex but I want to at least have some pleasure and none of the guys here are willing to give it.”

“You’ll find someone.” Eddie says.

“You want a drink?”

Many drinks later Y/N and Eddie sat together in a more concealed area of the party, both quite drunk. Eddie’s arm was wrapped around Y/N’s waist as he held her against him.

“You’ll hear my voice on the radio soon.” Y/N says, her head resting on Eddie’s chest.

“I better,” Eddie says, “I want to hear your voice everywhere I go.”

“Won’t you find that annoying?” Y/N questioned, “I get tired of hearing my own voice sometimes.”

“I could never get tired of your voice, it’s just so…nice,” Eddie says, “I bet your ex-boyfriend was a lucky person.”

Y/N snorted, “Ex-boyfriend? Never had one.”

“You’ve never been in a relationship?” Eddie questioned, his words slurred.

“No,” Y/N laughed, “No man is worth my time in a relationship, all they care about is themselves. Besides, no man has ever wanted to be in a relationship with me.”

“I find it hard to believe that no one has ever wanted to be in a relationship with you.” Eddie says, having a sip of his drink.

“Why?” Y/N asked, looking up at Eddie.

“Because you're beautiful, who wouldn’t want to be with you?” Eddie says, brushing a strand of hair out Y/N’s face.

Y/N smiled lazily, “Beautiful is a strong word.”

“No, I mean it.” Eddie says, his hand resting on her jaw.

“Well you’re not too bad yourself Eddie.” Y/N mumbled.

Eddie’s hand continued to caress Y/N’s face as he slowly inched his face closer to hers, his breath fanning her face. Y/N gripped onto the front of Eddie’s shirt, her eyes falling to his lips, Eddie watched her movements closely. Pulling him closer by his shirt, Y/N captured Eddie’s lips with her own, acting on an impulse.

The grip Eddie had on Y/N’s waist tightened as he pulled her body to his. His other hand tangled in her hair. Y/N’s body was on fire, she couldn’t tell if it was because of the kiss or the alcohol in her system.

Pulling away, Y/N mumbled something to Eddie, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” Eddie says breathlessly.

Y/N pulled Eddie back to her, kissing him passionately. Throwing her leg over his lap, she straddled him, while wrapping her arms around his neck. Eddie gripped her hips tightly, as Y/N began to move her hips on top of him. Everything in Y/N’s brain was telling her to stop but her body was doing the complete opposite. She was desperate.

Their kiss was hungry and desperate, they kissed like the other would disappear at any second. Slowly, Eddie’s hand’s roamed under Y/N’s shirt, touching her bare skin. The touch set her skin on fire, goosebumps formed in his touch’s wake. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, messing it up.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this.” Eddie mumbled against her lips.

“I know.”

Y/N moved her hips once again, causing Eddie to let out a quiet moan. Y/N smirked against his lips.

“Let’s find a room.”

…

Y/N L/N: [smiles]

EDDIE ROUNDTREE: [smiles]

________________

#eddie roundtree #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie loving x reader #eddie loving #daisy jones and the six x reader #daisy jones and the six #josh whitehouse

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roguelov · 9 months

Note

I have this silly headcannon that Reader has a special pet name for Morpheus when they are in private. Because Lord Meowpheus is just so darn cute, she can't resist calling him kitty. At first Morpheus glared at her and rebuked her attempts at calling him such a degrading and saccharine name, but reader would say to him that his reaction just made this pet name even more suitable cuz he acted just like a sulking kitten. But, gradually Morpheus gets used to it and secretly falls in love with the affectionate she used. Unfortunately one day reader accidentally calls him by the pet name when she walks into Morpheus having an audience with a subject. It's so embarrassing for our dream lord and the word is spread across the dreaming and the denizens all snicker at it behind their king's back

… anon … I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! And the idea of teasing Morpheus is my favorite thing

“Morning, kitty,” you teased, rolling over in bed.

Dream - having awoken a hour before you to secretly admire his love - rolled his eyes, despite the faint flutter of his heart. “Must to you refer to me in such a ridiculous manner.”

“But you are my sweet kitty.” You brushed back a few strands of his soft dark hair and cupped his face. You kissed his forehead, then his nose, and finally his lips.

He sighed happy.

“Besides,” you murmured against his lips, “we both know you love it.”

He said nothing.

You simply laughed. You pecked his lips once last time before getting up for the day.

Later, you strolled into the throne room seeking Dream’s opinion on what felt like a frivolous matter. Dream, sitting on the edge of the stairs, talked to Lucienne and Mervyn on matters of the castle, more specifically the library and possibly another expansion.

You silently walked to Dream’s sides and leaned over him. “Sorry, kitty, but could you look at these when you get a chance?”

The room instantly went cold.

Your eyes widened, realizing your mistake. You cleared your throat, “Actually never mind, we can discuss it later.”

You scrambled out of there, while Dream stared utterly in shock hearing what you called him. Merv, on the other hand, snickered unable to help himself. Dream’s eyes narrowed at the pumpkin.

“You will not speak of any of this to anyone,” Dream gritted his teeth. He abruptly stood up, now hot on your trail. “We can talk of the library’s plans later, I have other matters to attend to now.”

Oh yes, you shall pay dearly.

Because by the end of the day all of the Dreaming knew of Dream’s pet name.

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #ask

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eldritch-spouse · 9 months

Note

I’ve been thinking a lot about the triplets and different scenarios.

So imagine they all fall for one person and it’s going great!… For only two of them at least.

Their obsession gets along well with Obie and Ludwig, but every time they’re around Mervin they get quiet and nervous with him.

Their obsession does this because they think that Mervin hates them, so they just try their best to stay small and not set him off.

I feel like Mervin would lose his mind over this because he can’t really just go “Hey, I really love you.” So their interactions would be awkward. So while Lud and Obie seem to be going forward with a romantic relationship, Mervin is just kinda stuck at being a friend.

I think his brothers would poke fun at him or try to support him. Idk

This is a good example of how they can work well together to support each other.

They can read you by now, and they can read Mervin. It's no secret to both Obie and Ludwig that you're equally head over heels for their bitter grape of a brother, it's just that you don't know how to deal with trickier types of demons, and Merv can't court the same way the other two do.

So, naturally, the two of you need a little push.

The first thing Obie and Lud do, as had been hinted at in other instances, is absolutely air out their bro's dirty laundry and explaining/showing you just how down bad he is. They'll point out little things that maybe you don't pick up on so easily, explain the nature of the prideful kind. If they weren't all yandere, the two would let you have space and decide if you want to pursue someone like Mervin. But, in reality, they're going to push you to seek him out a bit more actively.

Mervin may hide it well, but he's devastated that you don't cling to him like you do to Obie and Ludwig. He's vaguely depressed about the distance you seem to put between you and him, physical and emotional. It shows when you turn around, his form sagging. The glutton and the wrathful one obviously taunt him about it, but they're also working towards getting you two to find an understanding- Even if Merv insists he doesn't need help from losers like his brothers.

You'll probably be the first one to say "I love you.", and even if he doesn't return the words just yet, the relief on his face speaks volumes upon volumes of relief.

" About time you admitted it. " He grumbles, eyes creasing further in silent euphoria.

Somewhere in the background, Obie and Ludwig high-five each other.

#Mervin oc #Obie oc #Ludwig oc

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dapurinthos · 2 years

Text

more about blood of eden naming because i have sunk my teeth into it, especially on how they use the names of destroyed and mythical places.

the wings/cells

merv: also alexandria, antiókheia in margiana, marw al-shāhijān. located in iran. inhabited from c. 2000BCE, a holy site to zoroastrians, one-time capital of the islamic caliphate, razed to the ground in 1788/9.

ctesiphon: also tyspwn, ktesiphōn. located in iran iraq (sorry, my geography of this area begins with sumerian cities and ends with aššur). founded c.120BCE, capital of the parthian, sasanian empires. besieged in the battle of al-qādisiyyah in 637CE, became a ghost town afterward.

troia: troy, illios, wiluša. the one heinrich schliemann “““excavated”““. located in turkey. inhabited from c. 3600BCE, the troy, the one we all know, hektor, akhilleus, kassandra. the milawata letter. destroyed multiple times over the millennia, the last being in thee roman era.

lemuria: mythical lost continent beneath the indian ocean, proposed by philip sclater, later appropriated by occultists. identified with the lost continent of kumari kandam by some tamils, which is believed to be their ‘cradle of civilization’ where the population was solely tamils.

mu: also a mythical lost continent, name also used interchangeably for lemuria and atlantis, the product of the mind of augustis le plongeon.

further, we see we suffer use the following names for other military cells in chapter 27:

saaftinge, zoar, birmingham, maputo, taree, memphis, taksa, calakmul, valencia, opava, dundee

normal cities, to us. however, to the people of blood of eden, these are all mythical, lost places regardless of the reality of merv, tyspwn, and wiluša. they are at a remove of ten thousand years. they are in the space between the fall of roman troy and the re-discovery of it, though there can be no rediscovery, only stories. much like australian aboriginal stories stretch back before certain parts of australia were underwater, blood of eden preserves the names of places that have been obliterated by the nuclear bombs, by whatever john continued to do to earth to have it so completely covered by water except for canaan house.

‘the flood, you know? You can wash things clean. that’s all the end of earth was … making things clean’, says john, and that’s what he did. he re-enacted the story of atra-hasis, of utnapištim, but there was no one to speak through the reed wall to save humanity even though, through the ages, it is very likely that the story of john destroying the earth became their new flood myth, their ‘god decided the world was too populous and was going to destroy it, and we are the chosen people who managed to survive.’ the whole of earth is mu, is lemuria.

#nona the ninth spoilers #ntn spoilers #blood of eden #LOOK I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT WHAT BOE'S MYTHOLOGY MUST BE LIKE #also about how the greek flood myth might tie in because one of the survivors is named PYRRHA

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the-darklings · 2 years

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I saw Cori and Wanderer went to the Dreamfall for a bit, do you mind writing a drabble for that? I think it would be so cute.

If you don't have time is ok

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dreamfalling into nightmares.

pairing: the corinthian & f!reader (wanderer), background dream of the endless x f!reader

summary: “We’ll remember each other forever at this rate.”

wc: 1.9k+

notes: been missing them hours, so this was a joy to write.

series masterlist | ao3 |

The knock comes promptly after sunset.

Tugging the door open to your private room, you discover a tall, handsome, grinning nightmare in your doorway, a hand propped against the frame. Corinthian’s appearance has not changed since earlier this afternoon when he found you napping in Fiddler’s Green. Pale clothes clad his body, and dark glasses conceal his eyes from everyone, even you.

“Why, hello there,” he greets in a drawl, a dimple creasing his cheek.

Your grin matches Corinthian’s—sly, biting, certainly fond in your case.

“A punctual nightmare,” you say playfully, opening the door wider to permit him entry. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, I’m full of those,” Corinthian retorts, strolling inside.

He examines your room methodically, everything from the bed to the wooden table slotted in the corner, halting only once, on the windowsill. No—he snags on the object placed as a silent protector over your space. His figurine of himself. His Dreamfall present. A nightmare watching over someone’s dreams. Perhaps ironic—no, certainly ironic, but you don’t dare to speak while he ambles over, his finger lightly brushing over the figurine’s head.

“Ready for the celebration, I assume,” he voices suddenly. “You dressed up. That’s nice. He’s going to love… that.”

“It was implied I should,” you reply. “Something about being the guest of honour.”

Corinthian steps away, his arm dropping back to his side with a faint hum. “More than that, troublemaker,” he says, turning to face you with a crooked grin. “Why you’re the first ever.”

Your brows wrinkle. “First… guest? Wait, you mean no one has been invited to Dreamfall before?”

Corinthian huffs a breath as if your lack of knowledge is deeply amusing to him. “Do you imagine Dream has many friends? His family has attended in the past, or so I heard. Predates you or me, though.”

Warm heat unruffles inside your stomach, a sunbeam crawling through your body and heart. A tiny smile graces your face, and Corinthian appears all the more amused for it. His arm slots behind his back, extending another your way, bent at the elbow.

“My mission is to escort the honoured guest tonight.”

Grinning, you reach to hook your arms, falling to his side effortlessly as he leads you across the room and outside. “Here, I reasoned you enjoy spending time with your favourite mortal.”

His scoff is scornful, biting but amused. “Perish the thought. I can’t stand you.”

Chuckling, you shove your shoulder against his. Evidence of his smirk gets swallowed by shadows as you walk together. Cutting across the winding, silent corridors, you can’t help but be grateful for his presence. For the way, he’s a treacherous, conniving shadow a step behind you at all times.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper. “Even if you didn’t want to and Dream ordered you.”

The golden-haired nightmare glances your way, says nothing, and then continues your steady trek. You're about to question him on the odd behaviour when he speaks:

“He didn’t order me,” he responds, pursing his mouth to a point his nose wrinkles. “Dream asked the pumpkin to escort you. As if I would let that happen.”

Floaty smugness swells in your chest, your features alighting with barely suppressed glee. He’s as good as admitting the notion of anyone else escorting you is some imaginary slight against him. There’s no doubt in your mind it’s a matter of pride. Merv and Corinthian had never gotten along, much the same way Lucienne and Corinthian have never seen eye to eye. Now that you consider it closely, you realise you’ve never seen the nightmare getting along with anyone. Ever. Others tolerate him, but Corinthian carries himself with unbridled air of self-importance and haughtiness. With each step taken, Corinthian asserts he’s the best, most masterfully crafted, and he’s not even slightly modest about being Dream’s most superlative creation.

“How sweet. I’ll be sure to ask Merv a dance to make sure he’s not feeling left out.”

Corinthian’s expression rearranges into a slight grimace at your nonchalant words. He makes a point of not gracing that with a response, and you have difficulty biting back your gleeful grin.

Outside the castle, the views are otherworldly. Magical doesn’t do it justice. Dreaming has always had a life of its own; a beating, pulsing core of pure imagination, making anything possible here. If you can only think of it, it’s real. There are no limits, no too much, only freedom.

But Dreamfall…

A gasp slips past your parted lips the second you exit the castle. Preparations have been ongoing for three days now—with most bustling activity stretching from dawn to nightfall—but seeing it upon completion now robs you of breath.

Will-o’-wisps float aimlessly through the pleasant night air; trees, paths, buildings and most available surfaces sit covered in warm, gauzy lights. Flower blooms have been twined around bannisters leading everywhere, and you spot tiny fae-like creatures napping and playing on the bright, lustrous petals. Dust sprinkles from their wings while they dance, and you chuckle under your breath, eyes skipping everywhere so you don’t miss anything.

Corinthian slowly leads you to the castle courtyard, letting you absorb the magnificent sights as you go. But when you finally arrive, you hardly recognise what you’re looking at. What was once the courtyard has now become an open-air ballroom. Hundreds of dreams and nightmares have packed into the space; outside the castle parameter, you see thousands more: bonfires and glowing tables as far as the eye can see. Birds and winged creators take up celebration in the starlit skies above. And it is when the music hits you; light, dreamy, joyful. Tonight there are smiles and drinks everywhere.

Dream’s creations are here to be celebrated—to celebrate themselves, and your heart inflates with happiness for them, soft and warming from within. Some are horned, winged, or scaly. Creatures that barely resemble human shapes are wherever you glance. Their skins vary from white to purpose to yellow and all the hues between. Their eyes are many, few, or none in sight. They communicate in growls, high-pitched whispers or companionable silences. Some resemble wraiths, others merfolk, while several take on faery forms. There are females and males and those who hold no gender, for they come from realms even you have not broached yet, where mortal logic does not apply or is necessary.

This is a mirror of life. Dreams and nightmares reflect the universal whole. And you’re helplessly in love with everything within the vicinity.

“Don’t you look besotted,” Corinthian draws, making you jump from your musings. “Shouldn’t you be running screaming?”

As if.

You squeeze his arm closer. “This is incredible.”

Corinthian follows after you when you drag him towards the buzzing crowds, weaving in between different dreams and nightmares. Tables litter the courtyard, drinks and food laid for all to feast upon. Half of it looks foreign, and the other half you would worry about putting in your mouth were you not cursed.

Some dreams are dancing to your left. Instinctively, you almost skip towards them, loosening your hold on Corinthian to grasp his hand instead.

“Come on!”

His grip constricts, making you glance towards him, but he only nods his head to your right. You follow his line of sight.

Dream of the Endless sits on a makeshift throne of carved alabaster, Jessamy perched on top. It may not be as exquisite as his throne inside the castle, but he is nevertheless a sight to behold. Dream fits it perfectly, regal and subtly imposing the way only Endless could be. Tonight his black robes seem blacker than any ink, blacker than the darkest edge of the universe. Stars glimmer inside his collar, flickering flames licking the blackened material where his coat pools by his feet.

His attention is already on you when your eyes meet, piercing and hooded, honing in on you through the busy throng of his creations as if you’re the only one present. Over Corinthian’s body, you offer Dream a subdued but warm smile, inclining your head, giving tribute to the Dream Lord on the night all living beings capable of dreams do.

His head lowers marginally in your direction.

Pressing closer to the nightmare you’re still holding onto, you prop your chin against his chest. “Dance?”

Corinthian’s head falls back towards you, listening, but his attention does not stray from his foray into observing his indirect kin surrounding you. It’s then you notice the cold, sneering way his face has contorted. Several individuals in the crowd are eyeing you with subdued suspicion and dislike.

No, eyeing him. You with him. Many in the crowd are known to you—through association or because you were there for their creation. Even more are known by name, by their stories. But it’s then, holding onto your friend, that his earlier words crawl back to the forefront of your mind.

Surely you’ve noticed? How many others around here look like me? Like you?

None. In a crowd of thousands—each more fantastical than the last—you two are the most unconventional sight. You stick out due to your sheer humanity. Due to your curse and wrongness in a land of plenty and wonder, but Corinthian…

The first time I became aware of my existence, I saw two things. Him, Dream of the Endless, my creator, and… you.

Crafted for humanity, a macabre reflection of them, a masterpiece for you.

“Let’s dance,” you say, curving your fingers tighter around his. “It would be a shame not to give them a show with all their ogling.”

Corinthian perks up at your quieter addition, his fingers curling near possessively around yours in return. Cool but firm to the touch.

“Now, that doesn’t sound very nice,” he hums, tugging you towards the dancing crowd. “Whatever would Dream say?”

I don’t care. No one looks at you like you’re wrong. Like you shouldn’t be here with me. You were the first—the first I saw made, the first I said ‘hello’ to, the first one I loved. You’ve always been mine, and you belong here, with me.

An airy laugh slips free from you, “Don’t care.”

His eyebrows jump up, wiggling. “Rebellious.”

He sounds far too delighted by the notion. He lifts his arm, and you hold onto him, spinning in a slow, uncoordinated circle.

“Says you. You’re the worst.”

He drags you closer, chest to chest, his teeth bared in a wicked, feral manner. He’s a nightmare. He will always be an entirety of chaos when left unchecked. But right now, Corinthian is merely here, celebrated and deserving of celebration the way all of Dream’s creations deserve tonight.

“Oh, I know,” he exhales, dragging out the words with deliberate slowness and a guileful grin.

You quirk a challenging brow just as another melody splits through the Dreaming, spinning a new dream for all those celebrating.

“Remember the steps?” you challenge. “Just how I taught you.”

“I remember everything,” he reminds, a touch sardonically.

“So do I,” you shoot back bitingly. “We’ll remember each other forever at this rate.”

The nightmare’s arm settles around your waist, his hair glowing from the hazy lights and the dreams appearing in the inky skies above—ready for their fall, their journey here, back home.

Corinthian doesn’t smile this time. In his dark sunglasses, you only glimpse a ripple of yourself reflecting from him. “I’m counting on it, trouble.”

And then the nightmare spins you into a dizzying, euphoric circle that’s all but endless.

an: I have such a deep-seated fondness for them. hope you enjoyed this. it's nice to write something happy after the last two chapters & overall a very meh day dealing with ten different mentally and emotionally draining things. hope this was able to give you all some much-needed comfort, and I'm sending anyone having a hard time rn all the love in the world 💕

#the sandman #sandman corinthian #corinthian x reader #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #sandman dream #sandman netflix #the sandman netflix #netflix sandman #dream of the endless #sandman imagine #the corinthian #dream x fem!reader #morpheus x fem!reader #sandman fic #fic: today i bury you in me

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